


In Lieu of Sensibility

by Katflap (Batman_in_Lingerie)



Series: Devils [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Rings, Dialogue Heavy, Dom!Clark, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, S&M, Sexual Humor, Spanking, That is literally the entire premise for the story, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, assholes in love, sub!bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 03:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman_in_Lingerie/pseuds/Katflap
Summary: Clark wanted to say he could handle Bruce’s ‘challenge’ to abstain for the week.He wanted to, but he couldn’t.It was going to be a long week.





	1. SATURDAY

**Author's Note:**

> THE SEQUEL IS A GO. I REPEAT. THE SEQUEL IS A GO.
> 
> Yes, so, I am adding another WIP to this site. I am sorry. Truly. But I require validation because I am sad little gremlin who survives off the kind words of others (working in retail has destroyed me.)
> 
> I am of course going to be working on this as well as my other WIP's so if updates are slow, well, you realise why I am apologizing now. 
> 
> This is a follow on from the The Revisionist's Work, so feel free to read that before starting this. Or read this as a standalone, what ever you fancy. :D 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

In the morning Clark nearly flew off planet, just to avoid dealing with the fallout of the promise he had made last night.

  
It was akin to trading your soul away for a cornchip. In that moment of hunger, it seemed like it was worth it, but then you’d die and plummet down into the pits of Hell, only able to dwell on the fact that all of this was happening due to your own incomprehensible stupidity. 

He brought the pillow up to his face and let out a low groan to try and relieve what it was he was feeling. It was part anger, part frustration and strangely even some nausea. As he released the series of sounds, he could feel Bruce stirring beside him, his hand coming out and resting on Clark’s chest. “Last night coming back to you, I take it?”

  
  
Clark didn't relent in his groaning, but he did nod his head, causing the pillow to rock back and forth above him. He could hear Bruce laughing and when he did, he threw the pillow across the room and turned to him sharply. “Why don't we call it even? You drop the promise and I won't tell anyone that you were stuck in a full body chastity belt last night?”

  
  
“Please.” Bruce sat, sitting up and stretching. “They wouldn't believe you even if you did tell them.”

  
  
“I can be very convincing.” Clark said flatly, sitting up and meeting Bruce's eyes. “I will draw pictures if necessary.”

  
  
Bruce only shrugged a shoulder. “You can do whatever you want to do, Clark, but you promised me you wouldn't have any  _ releases _ this week, and I intend for you to stick to that promise.”

  
  
Clark let out a breath. “But-”   
  


“No buts.” Bruce said as he got up from the bed and made his way over to the bathroom. “But I do want you to know something, Clark.” He stopped by the door, his hand hovering over the handle. “I can't forcibly stop you from doing whatever you want to do with your own body, I can however tell you that you are not allowed to do it and if you were to go against that, you would be breaking a promise you made to me, and I would  _ never _ forgive you for that.” He opened the door and stepped inside, though not before sending a smile over to Clark. “Anyway, love you.” He blew Clark a kiss, and shut the door after himself. 

Clark threw the other pillow at the door.

“You complete  _ bastard _ .” He muttered and fell back into the sheets. He could already feel his treacherous cock starting to get very confused about what was going on. It was the morning after all, and mornings meant showers, and showers meant-

He had to stop himself. He rubbed his hands into his face so hard it hurt and tried to focus on literally anything other than the fact that Bruce was naked in the room next to him.

He groaned, his dick already hardening. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” He sat up in bed, telling himself _not_ to look through the wall into the bathroom and doing it anyway. 

There Bruce was, naked, glistening, with water rushing across the plains of his body, humming to himself innocently as if he weren’t the Devil incarnate.

The small part of his brain that was in charge of his genitals, as well as the source of most of Clark’s bad ideas, chimed in.  _ ‘He has a point though. There was nothing stopping you from jerking off.’ _

“Nope!” He slammed his hands down into the mattress. “Do  _ not  _ go there.” Who exactly he was speaking to was not something he wanted to dwell on, because he really didn't like the idea that he was going to give his own cock autonomy, especially when he was doing everything in his power to ignore it.

_ ‘But. He won't know, you could just, you know...’ _   
  


The rational part of himself spoke up. _ ‘Oh, he would totally know. He’d just have to look at you and he’d have it figured out, and you know he means it when he says he won’t forgive you, that man holds a grudge like no one else.’ _

There was being stuck between a rock and a hard place, and then there was the Hell he was currently experiencing.

He forced himself out of bed, and out of the bedroom aiming for one of the other bathrooms in the manor. Thankfully the boys weren't home, having had their own Halloween parties to attend the night before, and Alfred was away on his yearly vacation. No, it was just him and Bruce, as well as the remnants of the party downstairs. No one else was there, leaving Clark unable to focus on anything other than the sound of Bruce getting wet and soapy in the shower as he walked through the manor. 

He did his best to block him out.

He found the bathroom and stepped inside. They rarely used this one with most of the rooms having their own en suite, and as such, there wasn't any soap already in the shower stall. He went to the cabinet and opened it, hoping for a bottle of shower gel and instead coming face to face with the last thing he wanted to see. 

He picked up the bottle of lube, and before he even realised what he was doing the plastic of the bottle was cracking. He dropped it like it had burned him and quickly swept it to the back of the cabinet, reaching past it for the bottle of shower gel and slamming the door shut after him for good measure. 

He usually relished his morning shower, but this morning it felt like it was going to be an obstacle course of misery. He thought about not even using the soap, just letting the water run over his body and keeping his hands far away from any part of his skin that would make his dick betray him further. He knew that wasn’t going to be possible, so used the soap and massaged it through his hair, letting the bubbles fall over himself and then rubbed the least erogenous of his body first. Arms, feet, calves. When he reached his thighs, he kept his touch as firm as humanly possible and practically scoured his skin in the process. 

Thankfully the rest of his body wasn’t betraying him as of yet, his chest and ass cheeks providing little stimulation, but then came the final obstacle. The fraying rope over an endless pit of death that was his cock. 

He knew he had to wash it. He knew he did. He tried to school himself. It was just skin, skin is skin, it is no more, nor less gratifying to touch than your feet, he tried to tell himself. He took a deep breath and lathered his hands, and-

Okay, no. He had to rethink this. He could feel the blood rushing to it even as he told it not to. “You fucking piece of _shit_.” He muttered, and because the small part of his brain in charge of his genitals and bad ideas was also a giant masochist, he got harder. “God  _ damn _ it.” He hit his head against the tiling.

  
So he shoved his dick in Bruce last night without a condom? How dirty could dicks get from that anyway? There had already been a steady stream of water washing over it, so he was  _ sure _ it was fine, but could also feel Bruce’s glare hard and firm in his mind's eye if he were so much as catch a wiff of stagnate seamen arising from Clark’s dick.

“Okay, just block it out. You have hypersenses, you idiot, just focus on the tiles against your feet for like 30 seconds. You can do this.” And he did just that, the once smooth tiles under his feet began to feel rugged as the microscopic imperfections of them started to make themselves known against Clark’s skin. He brought his hands down and wrapped around his cock like he was choking it, and with a few clumsy movements he wiped it down, going to reach for his foreskin when-

“Oh.” He said softly, as he fell forward, his finger betraying him as it ran around his head. “ _ Oh- _ no, wait!” He pulled back sharply. “You-” He stared at his hands, and could almost hear them laughing at him.

It turned out the part of Clark’s brain in charge of his genitals and bad ideas, also had a timeshare with Clark’s hands. 

Clark nearly screamed as he banged his head against the tiles.

  
  
He didn't know how long he stood there in the spray, his cock hard, his hands balled into fists before him. The water bill was presumably skyrocketing the longer he remained here, but if Bruce was going to enjoy his misery the least he could do was front the bill for it. He eventually heard a knock on the door, and it was Bruce, who didn’t even attempt to wait for Clark to respond before cracking the door open. “I was going to make coffee. Any idea how long you'll be in here?” 

Clark could tell he was trying to be nonchalant, but he was also Superman, and was able to catch the slight flicker of Bruce’s eyes as they came into contact with his erection. Clark just shook his head. “Nope. I may just live here from now on.” 

Bruce had the decency to at least try to look sympathetic but it was quickly lost underneath the layers of asshole that he was also comprised of. “Try cold water.” He said, before shutting the door and leaving Clark alone. He went back to his task of counting the flexs in the marble tiles, as one of his hands silently went to the temperature handle and turned the hot water off completely.

It sucked. Like, a lot. It was as though needles of ice were colliding against his skin, but he was also in agreement that this was the only way to cool himself off so leant back, allowing the stream of water to collide head on with the hot skin of his cock.

It reminded him of the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz movie. He could imagine his cock screaming that it was melting as it slowly withered down to its docile form before him. He felt something close to pride as he realised what he had just accomplished. He had managed to fight back his erection. The first of what was going to be quite a few erections, sure, but he remained somewhat hopeful. He’d handled the first one, the ones after this one would be fine.

  
Surely.

  
...Right?

He hit his head against the marble again for good measure. “ _ You _ did this.  _ You _ made a deal with the sexy devil-”

  
  
‘ _ Bruce in a sexy devil costume. Bruce in a sexy devil costume. Bruce in a sexy devil costume.’  _

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” He slammed the water off and hot tailed it out of the room, rushing for their bedroom and throwing on his clothes as quickly as possible. The more time he was spent doing something, the less time he had to dwell on anything else. So after getting dressed he went down to the kitchen and found Bruce already there, stirring sugar into his coffee. “Good shower?” He asked innocently, and Clark hated the thrill that ran through him as a result.

  
  
“Okay.” Clark clapped his hands together. “Can we at least agree that if I am going to be doing this, that you won't do anything to try and sabotage me?” He was trying to keep his voice even, but Bruce just kept that cool stare leveled on him, which didn’t help matters at all. “I mean it, I may be able to do this, but if you keep-”

  
  
“Keep doing what?” Bruce gestured around the room. “I asked how your shower was. I'm not  _ trying _ to sabotage you, I want you to succeed in this just as much as you do.”

  
  
“I really doubt that.” Clark said, crossing his arms. “You’re just doing this because you want to be able to hold it against me for the rest of my life.” Clark was already seeing the most likely outcome of this week before him. He’d lose, because of course he would, and without fail, anytime Bruce would want something he would bring it up. 

They would be 80 and Bruce would voice wanting to go to the opera or something equally as mind meltingly boring, and Clark would say he didn’t want to go, because they were 80 damnit, they should be doing something fun, like jet skiing, and even though Clark knew what would follow after he voiced his disdain, he would do it anyway, and then Bruce would bring up a promise that was broken over 40 years prior, leaving Clark to utter a beleaguered, ‘yes dear’ as he got dressed for the fucking opera.

Bruce shrugged a shoulder. “I mean, you're not wrong, but if you do succeed, I will also be happy.” He sipped his coffee. “So for me this is a win-win situation.”

There was no winning here. It was a loss-loss and Clark tried to not let the futility of it all crush the tiniest bit of hope he had felt only a few moments ago. He went to the coffee pot and poured his own cup, sipping at it slowly. “Let’s just not talk about it anymore, shall we? What are we doing today?”

  
  
“Clean up.” Bruce said. “Lots of plates that need cleaning, also need to deal with the recycling. I’ll be handling that for the most part and whilst I do I want you to deal with the other rooms.” His eyes were locked on Clark as he spoke. “Namely the study, the cellar and the guest bedroom.” 

Clark closed his eyes, unable to deal with the reality that was going on around him presently. “And why exactly do _ I _ need to deal with those rooms?”

“Because I asked?” Bruce said, raising a brow.

  
“Please, don’t insult my intelligence. I can help you with the washing up.  _ You _ can clean those rooms.”

  
  
Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line. “But I didn’t ask you to do that, I asked you to clean-”

  
  
Clark opened his eyes, glaring at Bruce as forcefully as he could manage. “I know what you  _ asked _ me to do, but the fact is you can’t force me to do what you want before I’ve failed your little ‘challenge’, so drop it.”

  
  
For a moment Bruce only looked at Clark, his lips curling up by the barest of margins and Clark knew that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to destroy him. The fear he felt was real. “The thing is Clark, if you do what I say, I may show mercy upon you.” Bruce said concealing his growing smile with his coffee cup. “If you don't? Well I never promised I  _ wouldn't _ sabotage you and I would hate to have to start so soon.”

Clark opened his eyes, not even attempting to hide the loathing he felt for the man before him. “You wouldn’t.”

  
  
“Did I mention I jerked off in the shower this morning?” Bruce said, sipping his coffee.

  
Clark dropped his cup onto the floor, ignoring it as it shattered and sent coffee all across the tiling. He was on Bruce, slamming the mug out of his hand as well. He forced him up against the counter, his eyes aflame. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that? I hate you so much-”   
  


But Bruce was leaning forward, his lips caressing Clark’s oh so gently, and he could feel his own cock already starting to tent in his slacks. “I figured you do it every morning, so I may as well try, and well.” Bruce whispered as he tilted his head, his tongue licking the shell of Clark’s ear. “It felt  _ so _ good.”

With that one sentence, all of Clark’s hard work was undone, as he felt his cock straining, an errant drop of precum springing forth, he was reminded of the fact that it was ready to go any second now. He gulped down the saliva pooling in his mouth, as he brought his hips forward, his crotch graze against Bruce’s thigh as he let out a broken whimper. “You are  _ evil _ .”

Bruce was rubbing Clark’s hips. Not bringing him closer, but not pushing him away either. Clark bleakly realised that Bruce was right. This was a win-win for him. He wasn’t going to stop Clark, but he  _ was  _ going to hold it over Clark if he did keep going.

He pulled back sharply, and Bruce had to stabilize himself on the counter as he did, watching Clark with that same calm and calculating stare he always had when he was 100% in control of the situation.

Because even with Clark in this state, Bruce could still predict him. For all his posturing, Bruce trusted Clark implicitly and whilst that thought would usually make Clark's heart swell with love, at this moment it just made him even more frustrated. He brought his hands to his head, and tugged at his hair, taking long slow breaths as he focused on the sound of the birds outside, the leaves as they fell onto the grass, anything to keep his mind off of this room, who was in it and his own erection.

Bruce was quiet in front of him, not saying a word as he waited for Clark to be done with his ruminations. After a few minutes, Clark felt as though his erection had stepped away from defcon 4, and was easing lower still. It was still there. Oh, it was still there, but Clark felt like he could at least speak now. He looked at Bruce grimly. “I'm sorry about the cups.” He said, his voice thick with saliva.

  
  
Bruce shrugged. “I can clean it up.”

  
  
“No.” Clark said, sighing. “I'll clean it up, I'm sorry for acting out. It won’t happen again.”

  
  
Bruce didn't look mad, if anything Clark could see the flicker of excitement in his eyes, as he watched Clark. “We have a week of this, Clark, I am fully expecting it to happen again.” He reached for a dishcloth and wrapped it around his hand. “Now, I will clean this up and  _ you _ can clean up the rooms I asked you to do.”

Clark winced. “Can I do it in a minute?”

  
  
“Sure.” Bruce said, smiling. “Need another shower?”

Clark didn’t dignify that question with an answer, but he was sure the way he slumped off back upstairs told Bruce everything. 

He didn't shower. He did very carefully release his cock from its cotton prison and angled it over the shower stall. He pulled the shower head down with one hand, and with as few fingers as possible he held himself and braced as he turned the water on.

He hissed through his teeth, muttering to himself as he waited for his dick to realise that, no, you are still not getting off you little shit, so quit complaining and just die already. ‘ _ But, Bruce _ -’

“Do  _ not _ think about that evil man. He is beneath you. He is the devil himself and you need to think of pure, wholesome things, okay?” Yup. He was definitely cracking, he was straight up just talking to his own penis. 

_ ‘But what if we think about Bruce, just a little bit?’  _

He turned the water pressure up. “Die already.” 

The voice quieted down, leaving him with blissful silence and only a dull ache in his balls. That was something he realised with a growing sense of alarm. Do balls swell with semen? Can balls burst? Oh dear God, could he die from this?

  
  
If anything the panic was good. It distracted him from his genitals and he was able to shove them, still damp, back inside his pants and zip them up without any issue. When he exited the room, he looked downstairs and saw Bruce finishing up in the kitchen and making his way to the dining room. He looked up at Clark from the bottom of the stairs, and yelled up. “Clean sheets are in the airing cupboard.” He then continued on his way.

  
Right. Guest room. He nodded to himself. All he was doing was changing the sheets. It’s not like Ted and Michael were still in there, fucking. No. He was just changing sheets. Sheets which had writhing naked bodies on it the previous night. They may even still be damp with-

“Stop.” He clenched his teeth. “It.”

He went to the airing cupboard and pulled out a fresh set of sheets before making his way over to the guest room. He opened it and took a deep breath before he walked in.

And that's when the confusion hit.

The bed looked untouched. No, in fact it looked like it hadn't even been sat on. He went over to it and ran his hand across the surface, looking for any indication that it had been used and he found none. Well, he thought as he set the sheets down, no need for new sheets at least. 

He looked around, poking into the en suite bathroom and aside from a damp towel and a half empty bottle of shower gel left on the floor, found nothing else amiss there either.

“Where did they-” but he cut himself off when he saw the desk, innocuously sat against the wall on the side of the room.

He approached it slowly, his eyes immediately catching the hand prints on the mirror above it. He brought his own hand up and pressed it against the surface, before looking down to the wood. “You mother fuckers.” He said as he pulled back. “In front of the mirror? Really?” He wiped his hand across his face.  _ ‘Don’t judge, you’d totally fuck Bruce in front of a mirror.’ _

_ ‘He’d fuck him period. No mirror required, Hell, he’d do it on a bed of kryptonite and cottage cheese if that was what it took.’ _

  
Clark let out a long breath. “And now we are done with _ that  _ train of thought.” He closed his eyes for a moment before he went back to look at the desk.

There was an attempt at clean up, at least. There were strains there still, but Clark could see the streaks on the wood that showed some form of a wipe down had occurred. Sure enough when he peaked in the wastebasket, there were a few errant tissues, crumbled up at the bottom. He briefly thought that a casual observer wouldn't be able to spot anything untoward had even occurred here.

He however was not cleaning for a normal human, he was cleaning for Batman, and knew nothing short of a microscopic clean would suffice. He sighed and left the room, putting the sheets back as he did, and grabbing the cleaning clothes and disinfected instead. 

When he came back he made quick work of the mirror and wood, he gave another cursory glance around the room, and his mind had the _ genius _ idea to try and retrace the steps the two men would have made last night to better ensure he truly got everywhere and as he did he was painfully reminded of what  _ he _ was doing last night.

He wiped down the door handle before he made his way downstairs. 

He stopped by the dining room, and watched Bruce for a moment by the doorway as he scraped the plates of food off into the bin liner he had before him. He looked up at Clark. “Guest bedroom done?”

  
  
“Yup.” Clark said, crossing his arms. “Didn’t need to change the sheets, either.”

  
  
“Oh?” Bruce said, surprised for a moment, before he raised a brow. “Desk cleaned?” He asked instead.

  
  
Clark nodded sharply. “Yup.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “Gonna go do the cellar.” He figured the cool air from being underground in the stone room would do something to ease the heat in his skin, but he also knew what to expect down in the cellar. He’d seen how Dinah and Ollie had left the last room they used for their 'relations', and he felt like the devil he knew was better than the one he didn’t. “Let me know if you need any help in here.”

  
  
“Will do.” Bruce said, already picking up the next plate and scraping it into the bag.

  
Clark made his way down the corridor, and soon he was stood before the large wooden door that led to the cellar. He opened it and made his way down, preparing for whatever he was about to witness as best as he could.

He was first confronted with rack upon rack of wine. Each looking as old and dusty as the one before. He kept walking and eventually got to the wooden table down here. Bruce used it mostly for sorting his vast wine collection, but he knew that it had the added benefit of being a prime spot for banging and sure enough there they were. “Jesus christ, Ollie.” He muttered as he picked up a pair of underwear by the waist band. “You are truly horrifying.” He set the pair on the table as he quickly did a sweep of the area. The table bore the main brunt of whatever had occurred, but Clark gave a quick wipe down of the floor anyway before tackling the table and wrapping the pair of underwear in the cloth when he was done. 

He was going to be throwing it out anyway.

He reminded himself to grab another cloth as he made his way back upstairs, making his way over to the dining room and this time entering it fully. Bruce didn't speak but he did hold out the bag for Clark as he approached.

  
“Does Ollie just enjoy going commando post sex, or?” He asked lightly, going for a joke, but knowing his voice sounded a little too reedy. He dumped the contents of his hand into the waiting bag, and Bruce set it back down on the floor.

Bruce only shrugged. “I can imagine it's hard to put a still wet cock back into tight cotton briefs. Not to mention how sensitive it would be. I can see the logic.” 

Clark pressed his lips together. “So, you’re going to play dirty?”

  
  
Bruce quirked a brow, picking up another plate and ignoring Clark’s stare. “I didn't promise anything.” He said quietly. “But you’re right, I'll stop being mean.” 

  
“You promise?”

  
  
Bruce blew a raspberry. “Hell no, I know better to make a promise I won't be able to keep.”

Clark only sighed. “Alright, whatever, I'm gonna go deal with the study.” He called back over his shoulder as he walked away. “Have fun in here, Satan.”

He grabbed another cloth on his way back down the hall. The study door was still ajar and when he poked his head inside he saw the mayhem that was there.

Most of what was usually on Bruce's desk was now on the floor, the desk chair and been dumped unceremoniously in the corner and even some of the books were now lying on the ground. Clark had to tread carefully as he made his way through the room and stopped to stare at the clear place on the desk where either Hal or Barry’s ass had been sat on last night. 

“Don't.” He said preemptively.

He first wiped down the desk, as well as the sides for good measure and then went about picking up all of the items from the floor. It was as he did that he found a small bottle of lube. 

He doubted Barry and Hal would bring a bottle of it to a party, so that meant? 

Clark went back around t he desk and opened the top drawer.

He found a few magazines and when he picked one up, he realised there was another one inside of it, and briefly saw the cover.

‘COCK WHORES.’ 

He shoved the magazine back inside and slammed it and the lube back into it. “So it's  _ not  _ just me, you asshole.” He muttered. He wanted to throw the magazine in Bruce's face, but somehow he felt like it would have the potential to backfire on him way more than it would embarrass Bruce.

So he carried on cleaning, and when he went to set the last of the items back on the desk he grazed the keyboard, and it came to life.

It was Bruce's login screen and Clark stared at it for a moment before he clicked on the profile.

Of course it was locked and when Clark clicked on the hint it only had the words: ‘Nice try, idiot.’

He rolled his eyes as he stared at the words. He focused briefly on the dining room, and sure enough, Bruce was still inside, taking bottles from around the room and setting them on the table for later sorting. Clark placed his hand over the keyboard, he had time. 

He tried Bruce’s birthday and struck out. He thought for a minute, trying a few more words, a few more dates, before he let his frustration get the better of him and he typed out ‘fuck you’ and all but slammed the enter key.

He was in.

He could not describe the joy he was feeling. He didn't know what he was actually going to  _ do _ on the computer, but he felt as though he had won some form of battle so chose to relish in it.

It was as he stared at the home screen that he felt a light bulb go off in his mind. If Bruce had a porno mag in his desk drawer, he was bound to have something on his PC as well. Maybe something embarrassing enough to stop this whole stupid thing before Clark’s balls exploded. 

Some small part of Clark realised this was a bad idea, but as stated earlier, the part of Clark’s brain that was in charge of his genitals also came up with his bad ideas, and sure enough, it had come up with this one, too. 

Clark started clicking through files, and as he did he came across something. “Webcam security camera?” He voiced to himself as he clicked on the folder. 

The first thing he saw was a clip of himself as he sat in front of the desk attempting to type in the password before he eventually got it. He saw on his face the look of happiness and cringed at it. He quickly deleted the video from the folder and was then confronted with the one before it.

The thumbnail didn't tell him much, so he clicked on it.

\---

“Jesus, I think I turned the computer on.”

“So? It will go into standby in a second.”

  
  
“Hal, maybe we shouldn’t do this in Bruce’s office. He might kill us.”

  
“He is currently fucking Clark upstairs, so we got all the time we need, babe, we can clean up after.”

  
“Still...”

“Shush. How you wanna do this?”

  
  
“I don't know, we could just-”

  
  
“Nah, I wanna fuck you, Bruce must have something around here, he’s voted the most prepared League member for a reason. _Ah ha!_ Jackpot. Okay, scooch over, babe.”

“Are you going to…?  _ Oh. _ Oh okay.  _ Yeah. _ ”

“Feel good, babe? Want my dick in you?”

  
  
“Yes, Hal.  _ Yes _ . Come on, we've gotta be fast.”

  
  
“Maybe we should choose this as a moment to exercise the benefits of going  _ slow. _ ”

  
  
“Oh, I don't know if I can-”

  
  
“I'm right here with you, babe, gonna make you feel so good,  _ so _ good.”

  
  
“Hal  _ yes _ , please… I… I… wait? You hear that?”

  
  
“Hear what?”

  
  
“It’s you're phone. Wait, mines going off too, what-? Oh my God, Hal, we have to go.”

  
  
“Wait, what, why? What’s-”

  
  
“The stations been hit! Code red, we gotta go! Now! Come on!”

  
  
“But, my dick, your- Barry we _ cannot  _ go out like this, we-”

  
  
“Code red Hal! We need to  _ go _ !”

  
  
“I swear to God if this is Bruce using his moderator status to kick us all out of his house with the alert system, i’m gonna fucking kill him.”

\---

“What are you doing in here?”

  
  
Startled, Clark slammed his hands against the wood of the desk, his eyes wide as he looked to the doorway, to Bruce's smug face as he stood there leaning against the frame. “You would make a terrible spy. Do you know how loudly I was whistling as I walked here?”

Bruce stepped further in and gave a cursory look around the room as he approached Clark, and stood next to his desk. “I’ll ask you again, what were you doing in here?”

  
  
“Uh.” Clark reached across to the monitor and shut it off. “Nothing.”

  
  
“Nothing.” Bruce repeated, nodding once. “You were touching yourself. Do you realise that?”

  
  
“Wait, _what_.” But sure enough when Clark looked down his, cock was out and his hand was slick with, what?  _ Saliva? _ He balked his mind short circuiting as he whirled on Bruce, his mouth bobbing. “I didn't, but, I-”

“What exactly where you watching…?” Bruce asked under his breath as he leaned over the desk and turned the monitor back on.

“No wait, don't.”

  
  
“Don't? This is  _ my  _ computer Clark, or did you forget that, too?”

He pressed replay, and stood back, arms crossed as the video replayed. Clark could have closed his eyes and still seen the images on the screen. They had been seared into his mind, and his cock only throbbed at the sight because it reminded it of what it very nearly got away with. What would have occurred if Bruce hadn't walked in.

When the video stopped, Clark was greeted with blissful silence. Bruce cleared his throat. “You really think Hal is going to kill me?”

  
  
“Here’s hoping.” He muttered.

  
“Rude.” Bruce said as he sat against the desk. “So, how goes the celibacy since I last checked?”

  
  
“Fuck you.” He wanted to shove his dick back into his briefs, but he felt like doing so would tip him over the edge. He grit his teeth. “If Hal comes to kill you, I’m not stopping him by the way. I happen to be becoming  _ very  _ well equated with what being ‘blue balled’ means, and I think him killing you would make you even.”

  
  
“You do realise death does not release you from your promise, right?” Bruce said, crossing his arms. “If anything it means you have to do it even more. As it would be your last promise to me before my untimely death.”

  
  
“Yeah, no. If you die, I'm jacking off on your grave.”

  
  
Bruce smirked. “Morbid. I like it. If I were able to, I'd probably sit on your cock right about now.”

Clark gulped, his breath hitching. “I mean, we could, we-”

  
  
“I mean we  _ could _ .” Bruce said, looking up in thought. “I suppose…”

“Yeah?” Clark said, his hope returning to him.

  
  
“Yes.” Bruce said with a nod. “We could.” He bent over and kissed Clark languidly, his hand gently brushing up the side of Clark’s cock. Clark reached for him, urging his hand to grip him tighter. “We  _ won’t, _ but we could.”

  
  
Bruce pulled away, and Clark jerked his hips up into nothing. He could feel the way his face contorted, the anger that was on it, but he clenched his teeth and counted to ten. “You are a sadist, you are the worst, I hope Hal does kill you so I can cover your grave with semen.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You should sell that to Hallmark. I’m sure you’d make a killing every Valentines Day with a card like that.”   
  


“I mean it, this is without a doubt the worst thing you've ever done to me.

  
  
“We’re still on day one and you’re already like this, I really thought you’d at least make it to Wednesday before you started really struggling.”

  
“I jerk off  _ multiple _ times a day Bruce, not because I am an insatiable pervert, but because if I don't, I genuinely feel like my balls will explode.” He knew he was cracking the wood of Bruce’s desk with how hard he was gripping it but again, Bruce was fronting the bill for this shit show, so fuck it if Clark broke half the manor whilst it went on. “I mean it, this can’t be healthy, right? Even you have to admit that a daily release is good for you, Hell-” he ripped open the drawer and reached in and slammed the magazines onto the desk. “You do it too, so quit acting like I'm some sort of deviant.” 

Bruce picked up the magazine, and flicked through it. “This was a good issue...” He muttered to himself.

  
  
“Admit it, admit masturbation is a good thing.”   


  
“Why?” Bruce set the magazine back down. “No matter what I say, it won’t mystically nagate your promise so-”

  
  
“ _ Enough _ about the fucking promise.” Clark was on him, grabbing Bruce's hips and pinning him firmly against the desk. “You-”

But Bruce was yawning.

  
  
Clark deflated instantly as he stared at Bruce’s thoroughly unimpressed expression. “You done? Is this going to be a recurring thing? You get horny, then mad, then sad. Is this what I have to look forward to for the remainder of the week or are you going to actually fuck me?”

  
  
“You-” Clark balked. “Wait, you  _ want _ me to fuck you?”

  
  
“Of course I do.” Bruce said, rolling his eyes as though he were explaining a very simple concept to Clark. “I  _ want  _ you to fuck me and I will happily consent to it when ever you want to but…”

  
  
Clark closed his eyes, the hope he had felt for that very brief moment dying with a scream of pain. “You won't forgive me if I come?” He repeated mechanically.

  
  
Bruce nodded. “Exactly.” 

“I-” but Clark was past trying to reason with Bruce. Bruce was as unreasonable as a brick wall at the best of times, so right now he knew the likelihood of winning this was negligible at best. So he pushed off of him and walked out of the room. “I'm going to shower.” Again.

After another bout with the shower head, Clark was walking back down stairs to find Bruce back in the dining room.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up the rest of the manor, and before long it was dinner, and not long after that it was time for bed. 

  
  
Bruce was going out for a patrol, which again led Clark’s cock, who was still struggling with this new arrangement, to get very confused. Bruce on patrol, meant happy time in bed before he came home. Right?

No. _ Not  _ tonight. Tonight he would sleep soundly and peacefully, and have no more errant thoughts about Bruce, or anything other than sheep with which to help lull him to sleep. 

_ ‘Jerking off helps you fall asleep.’ _

“Fuck off.” He said to himself as he burrowed his face into the pillow.

_ ‘Alright asshole, but once you’re asleep… Well, who knows what could happen.’ _

“Wait.” His eyes shot open. “What?”

  
  
_ ‘You heard me.’ _

“No. That's not fair, that's not…” but he definitely couldn’t fall asleep now, with _that_ idea plaguing him. No, he couldn’t lower his guard, not even for a second.

Which is how he ended up lying there right until Bruce walked in.

He was staring up at the ceiling, and didn't move when he heard the bedroom door open. He stayed stock still as Bruce moved around, taking off his clothes and using the bathroom. Eventually he slipped into the bed next to Clark and made a slight noise which Clark assumed was of surprise, we he looked down at Clark’s face. “Clark?” He asked quietly. “Are you awake?”

“Yup.” Clark said. His voice surprisingly crisp despite how tired he felt.

Bruce sat there for a moment longer, looking around the room before back to Clark. “Any reason why?”

  
  
“Well.” Clark said, bringing his hands up to his stomach and connecting them. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  
  
“Yes?” 

  
“Nocturnal emissions.” He said, biting the side of his lip. “Do they count?”

  
  
Bruce thought for a moment, his face pensive. “Yes.”

  
  
Clark looked away because he did want Bruce to see them watering. “But I'm not _ awake _ , how can that count? That's not fair, Bruce. It just isn't.”

Maybe it was because of how pathetic he had been throughout the day, but something akin to pity was on Bruce's face as he sighed. “Okay,  _ fine _ , I'll help you out.”

  
  
Clark raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  
  
But Bruce was already getting up and walking across to his closet. Clark sat up in bed and watched him, his curiosity peaked. For a moment, Bruce was hunched over something, the sound of clinking interrupting the silence in the room. He soon stood up and turned around and when he returned to the bed, Clark was left to stare at the item in his hand. “And that is?”

  
  
“A cock ring.” Bruce said as he held it up to Clark. “We put on your balls, and your chances of emissions, nocturnal or otherwise lowers dramatically.”   


  
Clark narrowed his eyes. “Right.”

  
  
“So.” Bruce looked at him, his eyes glittering in the low light. “You want me to put it on for you?”

  
  
_ ‘Fuck him. Fuck him now.’ _

“Sure.” Clark said, moving the blanket off of himself and then easing his briefs down. He was remarkably still soft, perhaps the zen like state he achieved when he was waiting for Bruce helped more than he realised, and he tried to regain some of that earlier peace as Bruce came forward and gently eased the ring over his balls.

“ _ Shit. _ ” He hissed at the contact, and of course he was getting hard. Even with Bruce keeping his touch to a minimum the sheer fact that this was their first time using cock rings (which yeah, Clark was far more into that he first thought) and the fact that Bruce’s unfairly beautiful face was right there in front of him, meant he was helpless to what was going on down there.

  
“I’ll just tighten it now.” Bruce said as he did just that.

The pressure was verging on too much, but in a strange way it did in fact help. At least with it on he wasn't going to come from an errant touch alone. “Thank you.” He said quietly, and Bruce gave him a shy smile.

  
“You're welcome.”

  
  
Clark sat back in bed. “You know that would have been a sweet moment if it didn’t happen whilst you were torturing me.”

“If anything that makes it sweeter.” Bruce said as he kissed Clark on the forehead. “Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams.”

Clark prayed with every fiber in his being that they wouldn’t be.   



	2. SUNDAY

Clark found himself in a bedroom. 

He wanted to say it was their bedroom but it looked different. Bigger. The bed seemed to go on till it should have logically hit the wall, but it didn't, because the wall wasn't there. No, the walls were so far off that the picture frames hanging from them looked like specks, and through the mist of confusion, Clark realised he wasn't alone on the bed. 

Bruce was there too. Sat all the way across on the other end. So far that Clark hadn’t even noticed him at first. Clark tried to call out to him, but Bruce couldn’t hear him, or he was ignoring him. That was also a possibility Clark realised. So he started to crawl. 

Time dragged and dragged. It felt as though no amount of movement brought Bruce any closer. Clark called out again, screamed his name. Hoping that Bruce would answer. 

"What?" Came Bruce’s bored response. 

"Why’s the bed so big?" Clark yelled back, he still had some distance to cover but with Bruce's acknowledgement he was able to traverse the distance somehow and before he knew he was on his knees next to him. 

"Is it?" Bruce asked, sitting back, his hands on the linen. "I thought it had always been like this."

Yes, it had Clark thought as he looked around again. "Why were you all the way over here?" He asked now, trying to reach for Bruce, but inexplicably when he did, Bruce was no longer where his hand had been aiming for, and was actually a foot to the right.

"I was trying to sleep. You were tossing and turning and woke me up."

"Was I?" Clark asked, trying to remember his dream and failing. Was it morning? No. In fact it was still night time. The moon was above them, after all. "Sorry."

"It’s fine." Bruce said softly. "It’s just, you were calling for me. It was very distracting."

"Well, yeah, I usually dream of you.” Clark said with a smile. “Though you're usually dressed differently."

"Oh? How so?"

Clark gave a shy laugh. "Well, usually you're naked."

"But Clark, I am naked."

And sure enough when Clark looked it was true. How hadn't he noticed? "Oh." Was all Clark uttered as he looked at the muscles of Bruce's body, his cock resting on his thigh as he sat back, as though offering it up to Clark for appraisal. 

"You're naked too."

Clark looked down to see his naked body, but where his cock was meant to be, there was nothing. Only a black void. He reached for it and panic racked him as he felt nothing against his fingers. "Bruce, my dick is gone."

"You lost it, remember?" Bruce said as he gestured his hand around the room which was now suddenly even larger. Clark couldn’t see the walls anymore and the bedspread felt like it was getting warmer by the minute, like sand under the desert sun. 

"But-" Clark reached for the void again, and when he tried to press into it, he felt only searing heat on his hand. "Bruce, please, where is it?"

Bruce sat forward and reached for him, reached for the blackness. Clark wanted to warn him of the heat, but he didn't. He watched as Bruce went deeper and deeper until his whole arm had disappeared inside. As he did, Clark felt something stirring in his belly, tickling lower and lower until the area where the void lay started to exude it too.

When Bruce pulled back, he brought something with him, and there it was. His penis. The more Clark looked at it, the less he could recognize it. He saw skin, but was it his penis or was it something else? He couldn't tell. He looked back to Bruce. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Bruce said as he came forward and kissed Clark’s lips gently. "What are you going to do now you have it?"

“I want- I want to put it in you.” Clark said, his breath leaving him. The more he looked at Bruce, the more those eyes seemed to compel him. They were beautiful. When did they become red? 

  
Bruce climbed onto his lap, swishing his tail to the side as he did. “How do you want me?”

  
  
“On all fours, I’m going to fuck you.”

  
  
Bruce was smiling again, but there was an edge to it, as if one corner was being pulled higher than the other. “Okay.”

By the time Clark blinked, there he was, his ass out and waiting, his tail wrapping around Clark and pulling him in. Clark got on his knees and readied himself. “I’m going to put it now.” 

As he did, a warmth came over him, beckoning him to keep pressing forward. Bruce moaned softly as Clark hunched over him, kissing the hair by his horns. “You are so beautiful.” Clark whispered.

  
“I know.” Came Bruce's breathy response as Clark started to thrust, pulling back and slamming forward with delicious rapture. He kept going, and going, and going, and before long he could feel it, welling up inside him and he called out to Bruce. 

But he was gone.

Clark looked down at the bed, but it was not there.

He was falling through sand, into darkness. 

\---

“Jesus!”

  
  
He shot up from the mattress, his heart hammering as he looked wildly around the room. He was in the manor, and their room had returned to its usual state. He bleakly realised he had been dreaming, because of course he had. He rubbed his hands across his face, muttering to himself.

  
  
He felt Bruce stir beside him. “Can you be quiet? Some of us are trying to sleep.” Came Bruce's garbled words. He hadn't even bothered to turn his face away from the pillow, all Clark could hear was whatever made it through the fabric.

  
  
“Sorry.” Clark said more to himself, still feeling the heat ravaging his body. “I had a weird dream.”

  
  
“Yeah?” Came Bruce's response, and Clark could tell it was only because Bruce felt as though he _ had _ to say something, rather than him having any interest in what Clark’s dream actually was. It still didn’t stop him from answering, though.

“Yeah.” Clark said, taking a deep breath. “We were in bed, and you…” but the more Clark tried to remember it, the more it drifted away from him, until all he was left with was red eyes and-

  
He looked down at his lap. “God damn it.” He muttered. His erection tented the duvet and all at once the fact he was painfully hard drilled it’s way back into his mind, and he turned to Bruce. “What time is it?” 

Bruce, who was now going back to his ‘pretending Clark didn't exist’ phase of sleep, didn’t answer, so Clark was left to try and discern what time it was from what he could see of the sky outside.

  
  
The sun hadn’t come up yet, but it was November after all, so the sun wasn’t the most reliable timekeeping method at the moment. He briefly thought about blasting cold water on his dick and trying to go back to sleep, but his unconsciousness had already betrayed him once today, and he didn't know if he could cope with a second round. No, he was awake now. No matter what time it actually was. He got up from the bed and made his way into the bathroom.

It was whilst he was taking off his clothes beside the shower stall, that he realized just what else was currently on his person.

He tried to get a better look at the cock ring, but there was currently something which Clark was trying to ignore blocking his view. So he ran his finger around the perimeter of it and when he did, he found a small latch and when he released it. He realised the stupidity of what he had just done about 0.23 seconds later.

The relief was indescribable, he let out a low moan as his balls very much continued on with the task they had been wanting to do all day and night.

Here's a hint: it’s ejaculation.

Clark stood for a moment, his hands braced on the sink as he waited for the wave of pleasure to roll through him. If he didn't acknowledge or touch anything, he wouldn't slip over the edge. He was however sure that act of moving his hips, even through the air, would make him lose it. He was so keyed into what was happening down there, that yes, even a breeze would rocket him over the finish line.

Eventually he got a hold of himself and one ice cold shower later, he emerged from the bathroom, eyeing the still sleeping form of Bruce. He made his way over to his side, and peeked at the clock there. He rolled his eyes. “4am. _ Great. _” He mumbled under his breath. 

He rarely got up before Bruce did it. Bruce was the early riser, despite the fact that Clark was solar powered. 7am was considered a lie in in Bruce's very strange world view and the idea of Clark getting up before him was not one that Clark had ever even considered would occur in their time together. He supposed he could make a start on breakfast, but what breakfast would take several hours to make? He got dressed, and made his way down stairs to try and find out.

Once in the kitchen, he gave a cursory look around, trying to discern what it was he had to cook with. He’d hoped he’d see something that would give him a burst of inspiration, some item that would tell him what to prepare, but if anything, there was too much.

  
Having shopped earlier in the week for the party; the pantry and fridge were still stocked to the gills despite Bruce having used a lot of it himself on Friday. He nearly gave up on the idea cooking, so overwhelmed by all the possibilities that it felt as though the easiest route would be to pour a bowl of cereal and be done with it.

  
He then thought about the fact that he’d have to make the process last several hours, or be left with the mind crushing reality of doing nothing. At least if he did something, he wouldn't be left to dwell on ‘other’ things.

  
  
It was as he saw Bruce’s recipe book left on the side that he realised what he was to do; he had time, he had ingredients, and most importantly, Bruce was fronting the bill for all of this, so it really didn't matter if what Clark produced was edible or not.

He pulled out everything he felt he’d need. Flour, butter, sugar, fruits, vegetables. Everything. He was going to work his way through the recipe book and through that task, he’d either become the greatest cook alive, or he’d burn down the kitchen. He decided he was okay with either result.

Time stopped having meaning as he got to work. He could have been in there for an hour or 30 and he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He only stopped when he heard Bruce stood outside the room.

“What is all this?” Bruce asked, stepping inside, though he couldn’t get far as Clark had to move the tables around for everything to fit, and the room had more than a passing resemblance to a game of tetris as a result.

  
“I baked.” Clark said as he set down a cake, next to the other three. “A lot.” He moved around some of the plates to make more room and went back to grab the cupcakes that were still on the counter cooling. “I gotta ask, is this why you do it? To relieve some form of sexual tension in you, that I don't know about?”

  
  
Bruce, for the most part, kept his expression neutral, but his eyes were wide as he took in the plates upon plates of food. He barely registered what Clark had said. “I take it this helped.”

  
  
“Surprisingly, yes. It's hard to have those types of thoughts when you're trying not to let the custard burn.” Clark looked around at the spread he’s laid on. It was nowhere near Bruce's caliber, but it was something. There were only a few items that could no longer be called ‘brown’ and were now firmly in the ‘black’ category, but he hoped the icing would disguise the taste, at least. “What do you fancy first?”

  
  
“Coffee.” Bruce said as he maneuvered himself around the tables. “You did make coffee, right?”

  
  
“Coffee cakes? Yes.” He pointed over to the plate in question. “Regular ole coffee? No. I thought we’d go without it this morning, for a change.”

“It’s like you don’t even know me.” He muttered.

  
  
Clark however rolled his eyes. “And you must not know _ me _ or my superior sense of humour. Of course I made you coffee, you crotchety gremlin.” Clark was reaching for the pot, pouring it into the mug. He plucked two sugar cubes and threw them in, giving a quick stir before handing it off to Bruce. “How’d I do?”

  
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow but took a sip. He parsed the liquid in his mouth for a moment, and after he swallowed he gave a shallow nod. “It’s passible.”

Clark made a face. “Passible?” 

  
“Yes. _ Passibly _ the worst coffee I’ve ever drunk.” Bruce however, kept sipping.

  
Clark’s mouth fell open, a laugh working its way out. “Wait, was that a joke?”

  
  
“Yes. I can’t let you think you have the superior sense of humour. _ Mine _is superior. Always will be.” Bruce gave a solemn nod.

“Right, of course, can’t let you lose at anything, can we?” Clark rolled his eyes and moved passed Bruce, lifting one of the muffins to his lips. “So what's the plan for today?” He said, taking a bite.

  
“I thought we’d go to church.” Bruce said, his eyes staying on the liquid in his mug.

  
  
Clark stopped chewing, swallowing hard as he raised a brow in Bruce’s general direction. “Church?”

  
  
“Yes.” Came Bruce’s infuriatingly minimal response.

Clark ran his hand across his face, setting his half eaten muffin back down as he crossed his arms and regarded Bruce. “When is the last time you went to church?”

  
  
Bruce still wasn’t looking at him, his finger now running along the edge of his mug. “I thought I should get back into it, what if they’re right about the whole God thing? You never know.”

  
  
“Right.” Clark said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s just... _ This _ Sunday? Why does it have to be _ this _ Sunday?”

  
  
Bruce shrugged. “It’s as good as any.”

  
  
“Why not _ next _ Sunday?”

  
  
“What if we die before then?” He was shaking his head. “No, can’t risk it, has to be this Sunday. I have a lot to repent for, and so do you.”

  
  
“Me?” Clark brought his hand to his chest. “You are talking to Mr. ‘forced to go to Sunday school every week for 10 years’ here. As far as i'm concerned, me and God are square.”

  
  
“Right, because everyone knows going to Sunday school 20 years ago negates anything that goes on after.” Bruce's eyes flicked up to him then, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Clark heaved a sigh. “Okay, so I'm meant to believe you’re a God fearing man all of a sudden. Call me an asshole for thinking it’s a _ little _ out of the blue.” 

“It’s not out of the blue, I've thought about it for a while.” Bruce was setting his cup down and going to one of the tables, picking up a pastry that was only a little burned. “It just so happens to also line up with your new pact of celibacy, and I figured we should capitalise on your purity whilst we can.” He took a bite out of it.

  
“Purity.” Clark all but ground out. “My mind is _ far _ from pure right now, and you know it, you demon.”

  
Bruce turned to him, and of course he was smiling. “I know. Hence the repenting.” 

“Please, the only thing I’d repent for is falling in love with a complete asshole.” Clark crossed his arms. 

“Aw, you _ love _ me.” Bruce said, kissing Clark on the lips chastly. He could taste the icing on them. “I love you, too.” Bruce picked up his mug and continued eating the pastry as he left the room. “You should dress in something nice, I don’t want you looking shabby in God’s house.”

“Okay, if you really are doing this.” Clark said as he followed Bruce out. “How exactly do you expect to go unnoticed? Do you forget you're ‘Bruce Wayne’ or do you just think everyone's an idiot?”

“I don’t intend to go unnoticed. It would do a lot of good for my public image to go to church. You’d have to keep away from me of course, on the off chance photos were to be taken. Can’t risk people seeing them and wondering why you were in a random church, in Gotham, at the same time I was and putting two and two together.” Bruce took another bite, and looked down at it. “This is good, what jam did you use?”

  
  
“Raspberry, you had some left over.” Clark said huffing, waving his hand. “Don’t try and change the subject. The fact still remains, Bruce, you are going to a lot of trouble just to toy with me.”

  
  
Bruce had the decency to at least look a little shocked. “Why, I never. Here I am trying to better ourselves, and you think i’m just playing a game.”

  
  
“That is because you _ are _.” Clark deadpanned. “If you want to tease me, go ahead, but why should I indulge you in this?” He crossed his arms. “No, I think I'm just going to stay here. Have fun at church.” He walked away, but was stopped when he heard Bruce's voice, smooth as nectar in his ear.

“I'll give you something if you come with me.” Bruce said, and Clark hated how he could hear the smile in his voice, hated how he could see the pleasure on Bruce's face as he turned back around to look at him. “I will give you one.” 

  
“One what?”

  
  
“One release.” Bruce said calmly. “You can have one orgasm before Friday and I won't hold it against you, but _ only _if you come to church with me.”

  
  
Clark’s mind blanked at the implication, his penis however was very much on board with the idea. _Do it! Say yes!!_ “Why?” He asked cautiously._ Who cares why? Say yes, you moron!_

  
  
Bruce looked at him, as though confused as to why Clark would need clarification. “Because I'm a good person?”

  
  
Clark blew a raspberry. “ _ Please _. What's the real reason?”

  
  
“Because I love you?”

  
  
Clark’s frown only grew.

  
“Okay, okay, it’s because I really want you to come with me.” 

“But why? Why do this, especially after all the stuff you said yesterday. Why the mercy? Even if it is just as a bargaining chip to get me to play your game. I don’t get it.” 

  
“Because like any deal with the Devil, it’s still a terrible one for you.” Clark had to commend Bruce for his honesty at least, even if it did make him want to roll his eyes until the muscles keeping them in his skull snapped. “Especially because I already _ know _ what you’re thinking, ‘we can just have sex after what ever it is Bruce has planned today’, and you’d be right. We can.” He smirked. “But just think Clark, if you come today, do you really think you’ll be able to handle the rest of the week?”

Clark swallowed thickly. “_ Yes. _”

  
  
“But can you though?” Bruce made a face. “I really doubt it. In fact it would seal your fate. If you snap today, the rest of the week may as well be a write off.” He rolled his shoulders. “No, I have nothing to lose for giving you this offering. So take it or leave it.” 

  
“I just won't have sex with you today. Easy. Then I have one in the bank for when I really need it.” Clark crossed his arms, already feeling better for knowing that he was allowed one. Even if there was just one, it already made him feel infinitely better than when he had none. “I’ve already made it one day, another few won't break me.” He was Superman after all. He could handle anything. Including this. 

  
“I appreciate your confidence, at least.” Bruce said. “Really, I do.” He finished off his pastry and walked up the stairs. “I'll be getting dressed, don’t come upstairs whilst I am.”

  
  
“Wow, are you actually being considerate for me?” Clark brought his hand to his chest. “I’m touched.”

“Please, I just don't want you gawking at me like a horny teenager as I dress in my Sunday best.” Bruce kept making his way up the stairs, leaving Clark alone. 

Clark pressed his lips together. “_ Asshole _.” He muttered under his breath as he made his way into the kitchen. 

  
He had gotten through about half of the mountain of washing up he had by the time Bruce came back downstairs, putting on his cufflinks. “How do I look?”

  
  
Clark gave him the briefest of once overs. “Good.” He went back to washing the dishes.

For a moment, Bruce quietly regarded him as he stood by the door. He then let out a small cough. “Do you want to go get dressed or are you hoping the Church will take pity on you if they think you’re one of the needy?”

Clark set down the plate he had been washing and turned to Bruce sharply. “I will go get dressed now that you are finished up there, you royal asshat.” 

Bruce cocked his head. “Rude.” 

Clark stormed past him, and once dressing himself in what he hoped was a nice enough suit, he met Bruce back downstairs. He watched him from the doorway as he went about putting the pastries and cakes into tupperware containers. He didn't look up at Clark as he spoke. “I thought we may as well bring some to the Church as you made enough to go around.” He set another full tub on top of the others. Clark noticed he was only packing the unburned ones. “Especially as the boys aren't here to enjoy them.”

  
  
“You never said when they’d be coming home.”

  
  
“Tim is spending the week with your mother at the farm, and Damian’s tagging along.” Bruce looked up at him as though already hearing Clark’s thoughts on the idea of Damian being in Smallville of all places. “He didn't really have much choice in the matter.”

  
“Why?” Clark crossed his arms.

  
“I told him that he was to stay there with Tim for the week as a bonding exercise for the two of them. Also Martha so graciously told me they were welcome to stay, so.” Bruce shrugged.

  
  
Clark however only sighed. “And the real reason?”

  
  
“Why do you think everything I do has an ulterior motive?” Bruce said, putting his hands on his hips.

Clark didn't even dignify that was an answer.

  
  
Despite that, Bruce went on. “Yes, okay, I may have told them both to stay there this week to give us some alone time. You caught me.”

“Great, this week is just getting better and better.” Clark ran his hand across his face. He was already dreading tomorrow and it wasn't even noon yet. He didn’t want to dwell on it however so sighed. “Are we going now?”

  
  
“Yes.” Bruce said, loading up the tupperware into a large bag and walking past Clark. “We’ll travel there separately, you can drive or fly, up to you.”

  
“Drive, I'll follow you.” Clark said, following Bruce to the garage. 

Thankfully Bruce's wealth allowed for the plethora of cars that lived in the garage, perfect for all occasions, including ones were the driver needed to be as inconspicuous as possible as well as ones were the opposite was required. Whilst Bruce strolled to the lamborghini, Clark made his way to the small fiesta in the corner and when Bruce pulled away, Clark followed quickly after.

  
Once they hit the city proper, Clark hung back, allowing cars to fall between them and when Bruce pulled up into the church car park, Clark stayed in the car for a few minutes to better slip in unnoticed.

  
  
Of course that wasn’t really necessary as Bruce sapped up all stares from everyone in the church. No one even gave Clark a passing glance as he slipped into one of the pews. He’d hoped they would just get on with it, but of course Bruce was doing everything in his power to drag on proceedings for as long as he could, lapping up the lime line like the attention hungry diva that Clark had the growing suspicion was less of an act than he originally thought. 

Before long however, everyone was ushered to their seats, though it appeared all were reluctant to do so, wanting to continue their doting of Bruce more than do the thing they had actually come to church for. With more than a few looks from the priest, everyone started to move to their seats, and by the looks of it, a group of old ladies had been the ones to win Bruce, grabbing him by the arm and bringing him with them to the front of the church by the time the service had finally started.

Clark had forgotten how mind numbing it was. Not bad per say, just boring. The docile tones of the priest created a quiet hum that was lulling Clark into a trance that made time feel as though it had stood still and before long he knew his attention was waning, and or course when his attention started to go, it found something to focus on intently, lest his senses be overwhelmed with everything going on around him. You’d think he could just focus on what the priest was saying, but no, the region of Clark’s brain that was in charge of his penis and bad ideas, took the reigns and told him to focus on Bruce instead.

At first there was nothing amiss. Bruce's gentle heart beat reminded Clark that he was still alive, (he should call Hal and ask him if the death threat was serious or not, because if not, he’d gotten his hopes up for nothing and he’d tell Hal as much,) and as it stood, his heart beat provided the perfect substitute for his mind to focus on, he was still bored out of his mind, but at least Bruce’s breathing and heartbeat helped him to focus.

Although knowing Bruce and of course _ why _they were even here, should have let him know that focusing on Bruce was a terrible idea, one so terrible that even the part of Clark’s brain that supplemented them usually was blindsided by truly how awful it was.

For a while nothing happened, but eventually Bruce mumbled ever so quietly under his breath. “Cough if you're listening.”

  
Clark shouldn't have coughed. So he didn't know why he did.

Sure enough, he could have sworn he heard Bruce laugh. “Oh, you are so screwed.”

Bruce gave a soft gasp. It was barely noticeable, but Clark noticed very quickly Bruce's heart beat was increasing. Clark quirked a brow and focused in his general direction, was that-

Buzzing.

  
Heat flooded in Clark’s gut. “You mother fucker.” He muttered and quickly apologized when the woman beside him looked at him sharply.

  
It still didn't change how thoroughly fucked he was. 

He tried to go back to listening to the sermon, but no, he couldn't. He physically couldn’t. Bruce was sat in front of him, a vibrator in his ass, in a Goddamn church of all places. Clark marveled at the absurdity of it. If they weren't going to Hell before, they definitely were now.

He could feel his cock hardening. Despite how much he tried to block it out. Occasionally he'd hear Bruce shift in his seat, and the barest of gasps would come out and knock Clark like they were punches in the gut. Despite trying his best, he knew he was going to get an erection, in church, next to a woman who was already giving him the side eye for even being there, and sure enough, that just made him get harder. 

He’d have to hide it. That was the only way. His pants tenting would be obvious to anyone. He thought about the bathroom and as though reading his mind, Bruce spoke again. “You leave this room before I do, and the deals off.”

He bit his lip. Of course Bruce was going to be as much of a shit about this as possible. _ Super speed _, his mind provided for him and all at once the idea that he could hide what was going on in his pants right where he sat comforted him greatly. Thankfully, he wasn’t human, or else this situation would be far worse. Then again, this wouldn't be happening in the first place if he were human. He made a face.

Using super speed for something like this was in no way what anyone would have thought it could nor should be used for, but he did it anyway. As fast as he could, he tucked himself under his belt, and ignored the pulse that shot through his dick as a result. He tried to keep his mouth firmly shut, but couldn't help the quiet moan that made its way out from the back of his throat.

Sure enough Marge’s eyes were back on him, (he didn't know what her name was, but Marge seemed like a good fit, so, that was her name now,) but she hadn’t seen anything. She wouldn't have been able to unless her eyes could comprehend something moving faster than light. 

He was somewhat safe for now, but Bruce was still here, making those sweet gasps and if Clark really focused, because why not make this even worse for himself than it already was? He could _ hear _ the blood rushing to Bruce's cock, could almost feel the way his balls were swelling. Was he really going to do this here? Was he going to come in his pants in a Church? Clark bit his lips in anticipation.

But suddenly they were all standing, and Clark realised he needed to do that too. Somehow. 

As carefully as he could manage, and with some adjustments, he was able to stand and keep his cock in place. He just couldn’t move or else his dick was going to say hello to Marge and he did _ not _ want that happening.

Everyone started singing and Clark realised bleakley he didn't know the words. Even though he went to Sunday school, he realised in that moment he hadn’t actually paid any attention to what they did there and as such couldn't remember a single song that he should. He followed the melody as best as he could, but could feel Marge’s side eye on him growing by the minute.

Bruce was singing loud and proud because _ of course _ he knew the words, the asshole. The old lady next to him was holding onto his arm with the same affection as a caring mother, ignorant of the fact that Bruce was stood there, a vibrator still going off in his ass, in the most holy of places.

His voice didn't betray him, though at points, Clark could hear how it would hitch, how some words were hissed out and others were but a breath. No one around him noticed, but then again, no one else was focused on him with as keen an interest as Clark was. 

How long the song went on for Clark couldn’t say. He was so focused on Bruce and also keeping his dick at bay as it strained against his belt, that there was a moment when everyone sat down that he remained stood, before he abruptly plopped back down. Ready and waiting for the next onslaught.

The sweet droning of the vibrator came back loud and clear in Clark’s ear, the singing was now gone and Bruce was back to full volume in his mind, and because of course it could get worse, he was speaking again. “Clark, please._ I need it _.”

  
_ Oh no _ . He crossed his arms, bearing down into his seat and releasing a long breath. _ You fucker, you absolute fucker. I hope you go to Hell, I hope I can go there too just so I can call you a piece of shit for the rest of eternity. _

“Oh, _ ohh _....” Bruce was shuddering, was he? Oh yes, yes he was, and Clark could hear it as it hit his underwear, the damp squirt as his cum was absorbed by the cotton. He realised he wasnt breathing and he was sure his face was beet red, but he couldn't focus on anything other than Bruce even if he tried.

The buzzing had stopped, and Bruce was catching his breath and Clark would have thought that would have been the end of it, but of course it wasn't, because he was still hard, and Bruce must have known that because he gave the barest of laughs before he went back to listening to the sermon.

Eventually the ironic Hell he was currently living in wrapped up, and the entire room was ushered into another one for tea and coffee. When he walked in he saw what he had baked that morning set on little plates and he raised a confused brow, but there was Bruce stood in front of them all, already there gesturing around at the tables. “Dig in all, I baked them myself this morning, forgive me if some a little on the burnt side. I'm still learning.”

  
Clark bristled. _ Don't let it get to you _, he tried to tell himself, but Bruce was already under his skin so if he went a bit deeper, it wasn’t exactly something Clark could stop. He did have to fight back from snapping at an old lady who said it was one of the worst danishes she’d ever had as she nibbled at it.

He went to a corner of the room and tried to ignore everyone as best as he could, Bruce was still schmoozing and Clark used the time to try and let his erection go down. He took Bruce's earlier threat seriously and did not want to risk doing something now and having what he just had to endure be for nought, so he didn't rush to the bathroom like he wanted to; to the too small sink that he'd have to try and shove his dick into.

God he was fucked. Even the idea of cold water was turning him on. 

Bruce after a while slinked off somewhere, but eventually Clark heard his voice in his ear. “Join me.” 

He followed the general path Bruce took and wound up in the place Clark had wanted to run to earlier. He opened the door to the men's room and Bruce was there in front of the sink, and he turned to Clark with a smile. “Did you enjoy that?”

  
  
“You came in your pants in a church, Bruce. You are going to Hell.”

  
  
“Ah, well.” He waved his hand. “You still didn't answer the question.”

  
  
“Yes.” He ground out.

  
“Would you like to have sex?” Bruce asked, leaning back onto the sink. “We can you know, you were so good today, and my offer still remains. No tricks, I promise. We could do it right here in the church bathroom.”

  
Clark however had managed to keep back his beast of an erection back so far, so the thought of lasting for the rest of the day seemed achievable. He shook his head at Bruce’s words, though the idea he had suggested was one his dick was on board with entirely. “No, I can handle this.” He crossed his arms, he was going for confident but he was sure it came across as desperate. “Disappointed?” 

  
Bruce made a face. “Not really, especially because I'm not done yet.”

  
  
“Let me guess, another church service? Gonna masturbate in a Church confessional?” He regretted saying it out loud, not just because he really shouldn't be giving Bruce ideas right now, but also because it made his cock twitch with anticipation. 

  
“No.” Bruce said as he made his way forward, grabbing Clark by the lapels as he all but threw him into one of the cubicles.

  
Soon Clark was pressed up against Bruce and had to fight the urge to rub against him. His cock had strung free from behind his belt in the process of being forced into the small cubicle and Bruce was smirking down at it. “So you _ really _ enjoyed the performance?”

“Yes, yes.” Clark sighed harshly. “You gave me an erection in church next to Marge. I'm going to Hell with you. Congratulations.”

  
  
“Marge?”

  
  
“The lady sitting next to me, I don't know if that's her name or not, anyway, why are we talking about her. Why don't you tell me why I'm in here with you?”

“Because my underwear are _ soaked _.” Bruce whispered into his ear.

He could feel his precum trickling down his head. “You fucking-”

  
  
“Yes, I'm evil. The Devil. Whatever else you want to call me. Just help me clean up.”

  
  
“Help you?” Clark balked. “Fuck you, i’m not doing anything. Clean yourself up, you asshat.”

  
  
“Suit yourself.” Bruce said, unbuckling his pants and letting them fall to the floor.

Clark couldn't help but stare at Bruce as his pants fell to the floor, and as such, he saw just what Bruce was wearing under the suit. His mouth fell open. “Is that…?”

  
  
“A thong?” Bruce said innocently. “Yes, I thought it completed the look.” 

His cock was barely concealed inside of it, with half of his shaft poking out from the edge of the material. Whatever material was on his dick, may as well have not been there due to the thinness of it, Clark could see_ all _ of Bruce. It was all lace and frills and Clark gulped as his breath quickened. “It looks good.” He wasn't aware he had spoken until he heard a voice that yes, was his own. 

  
“Thank you.” Bruce said, taking the toilet roll from beside them and ripping off a few pieces. “They’re soaked through though, not much fabric after all. Going to try and wipe it off but there was a lot.” Bruce began wiping the paper gently across his length. “It felt _ so _ good.” 

  
“Yeah?” Clark said, wincing. He thought he was going to break something from how tensed up he was. 

“So much mess, though.” His finger wiped at a strand of his cum and brought it to his own lips, sucking it off. “And that's the thing, I do need help cleaning up, Clark, and I would really appreciate if you could help me.”

“What do you need?” He felt himself asking.

  
  
“Well.” He said as he turned around, bending over and presenting his ass to Clark. “Can you take it out?”

  
  
Clark couldn't hear anything past the roar of blood in his ears. “You, you want me to-” his brain was no longer working.

  
  
“Well yes, my ass is so sensitive right now, it keeps getting me hot again whenever I walk, so it needs to come out.” He was waving his ass from side to side, the string of the thong running down his cheeks not even covering the end of the vibrator from Clark’s unrelenting stare.

Clark’s hand lifted on its own accord. He reached for the vibrator and pulled at it until it was out. He stared at Bruce's hole, the way he could see inside of it. It clenched shut and before Clark knew it he was leaning forward, his lips pressed against it.

  
  
Bruce gasped, and Clark felt how the muscle of his hole quivered around his tongue. He tasted so good and Clark wanted to fill him, to fuck him, right here and now.

  
  
_ ‘Do it! Fuck him! You can, he said you can, do it, do it now.’ _ The words were on repeat in his mind, like a mantra, and he would have listened to it if he wasn't acutely aware that Bruce _ wanted _ this. He wanted him to fail, despite how he’d voiced being impartial only the day before. No, he was a demon, sent to tempt Clark and he had 5 more days of this torment, so he pulled back. Closing his eyes and breathing in deep. “It’s out.” He said as he let go of the toy, letting it fall to the ground.

  
Was that disappointment on Bruce's face as he turned back around? Clark felt somewhat proud of that, he hadn’t done what Bruce had wanted and expected, and he was going to ride that high for as long as possible. 

The expression was soon gone as Bruce went back to wiping himself down, and flushing all the paper down the toilet. Once done, he slipped his pants back up and pocketed the toy in some hidden pocket that Clark didn’t even know existed in his suit. Then again it shouldn’t surprise him that Bruce had hidden compartments sewn into all of his clothes.

They soon rejoined the others, after Clark had become _ very _familiar with the church bathroom sink, of course, and after a bit more mindless chatter they were making their way to their cars, and drove home.

Clark tried to relish in his small victory, but he knew the storm coming his way. Bruce’s determination was legendary, and if he wanted something, he was going to get it. This was becoming something for him to win, and Bruce and winning existed in the same realm, unlike with Clark.

No, Clark lost at things, especially when Bruce was involved. Hell, even with x-ray vision, he still lost poker to the man. This was just another game that he’d fail at.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  
So he told himself, if Bruce was going to claim he’d be happy if Clark succeeded at this ‘challenge’, then Clark was going to do everything in his power to provide him with that. He was a loving boyfriend after all. 

“Nice try, asshole.” He muttered to himself, staring at the bumper plate of the car Bruce was driving in. “You won't break me, you _ won’t _.”

  
And for the rest of the day, into the evening, Clark didn’t break.

  
When Bruce went on patrol and he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, he didn’t break.

  
When Bruce came home and put the cock ring on for him, he nearly broke, but in the end he didn’t.

  
So he went to bed that night, telling himself he’d made it 2 days, and another 5 will be nothing.

He then realized he had work tomorrow.

  
“Oh fuck.” He said to the room, before falling into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up! I hope everyone enjoyed it <3 
> 
> Not gonna lie, I don't know when chapter 3 will be up. My writing comes in two modes, and those are; 'torrential flood that decimates keyboards' and 'a drought worthy of the Sahara.' 
> 
> I could either get the next one up super quick, or glacially slow. Here's hoping for the former, eh?
> 
> As always your comments and kudos mean the world to me, and thank you all for your support. Till next time! :D


	3. MONDAY

Clark’s alarm in the morning was the first of many signs that his day was not going to go well.

  
He reached for his phone and shut it off before the incessant melody caused him to wish for death more than he already did. 

Bruce wasn’t next to him when he woke up. He was downstairs already, and from what Clark could glean through the walls he was already washed and dressed, sitting at the counter sipping his coffee and reading the paper, acting as if this were just any other normal Monday morning.

Clark should probably go down and join him. Then they’d be able to continue on with the idea of this being just another Monday morning like all others, together.

  
But first.

  
He stared down at his lap.

Ah, yes. The reason this was in fact _ not _ a normal Monday, and was actually far worse, was poking up at him and he had better go deal with it.

Morning wood was somewhat of a common occurrence for him, but knowing he couldn’t _ do _anything about it other than drown it and pray, made it go from a mild annoyance to something so far removed from Clark, that it felt more like some greater demon plaguing his soul than his own penis. 

He got up from the bed with a low moan as the idea of moving, let alone working, wedged its way into his mind. Maybe he could call in sick? Would Perry believe him? What if he told him the truth?

What even was the truth? That he was dying of blue balls? Perry would either kill him or laugh at him, or both at the same time. Yes, he’d laugh, then kill Clark and then expect him to finish his article, despite being dead, or else face dying, again. 

He showered, this time keeping the cock ring on until the cold water had suitably nullified his erection and got dressed for work before he had a chance to think about anything more arousing than socks. Yes. Socks. Socks are fine to think about. He stared at them resolutely as he pulled them onto his feet. 

  
‘ _ Bruce wears socks.’ _His mind provided conversationally. 

  
“Yes, he does.” Clark muttered, already fearing what direction this was going to go in.

_ ‘Bruce in socks. That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. ’ _

  
Clark sighed deeply. “Oh _ come on _, that's not even sexy. Bruce in socks… You’re not even trying anymore.” 

‘_ It’s a slow burner… You’ll see.’ _

“Fuck you.” He said to no one. Because no one was actually there; he was having make believe conversations with an aspect of his mind connected to his penis. 

He was so far beyond the realm of sanity that he couldn’t actually see the edge of it any more. 

And it was all because of the man sat downstairs, sipping coffee, completely ignorant to the fact Clark was speaking to himself whilst getting dressed. 

When he was finally ready, he made his way downstairs, his mind having gone eerily quiet as he did. It was a small blessing, and Clark was thankful for it, considering the Hell he was going to have to be dealing with today. 

  
Bruce barely acknowledged him when he walked in, with the only form of communication being a small grunt as he continued on with his task of reading the paper. Clark looked around at the spread before him, a few meats and cheeses with some bread. Nothing too fancy, but Bruce also had work today, so time was in short supply this morning. No plates upon plates of pastries today. 

Ace would normally have been under the table waiting for a few pieces of meat and cheese to make their way to him, but Clark noticed he wasn’t there. In fact, he hadn’t been there yesterday, pestering Clark as he baked. Or the day before. “Where’s Ace?”

  
  
Bruce looked up slowly. “It really took you _ two _days to realise he wasn’t here.” 

  
Clark huffed. “Give me a break, I was preoccupied.” The portion of his mind dedicated to his penis and bad ideas had inflated to such grotesque proportions that Clark was fairly certain at any point it would flop over into the part in charge of his breathing and he’d just die then and there. “You still didn't answer my question.” 

“Diana’s looking after him for the week.” Bruce went back to his paper, flicking over the page. “She took him with her when she left the party.” He said with an air of attempted nonchalance. 

  
Clark however was well versed in Bruce’s strange variety of bullshit and saw through whatever he was trying to pull. He raised a brow in mock surprise. “How strangely convenient that she’d just take our dog when she received a red alert…” Clark said, hoping the sarcasm was laid on so thick that Bruce would be smothered in it.

Sure enough, Bruce pursed his lips. “She may also have been the only person I didn't send the alert to.” 

  
“ _ And? _” 

“And I may have messaged her privately asking her to take Ace with her.” Bruce bobbed his head. 

“So she just took our dog. Just like that. No questions asked.” 

“She did. It wasn’t until the next morning that she asked me why.”

“What did you end up telling her?” Clark asked, already fearing what ever answer was going to come out of Bruce’s mouth.

  
Bruce quirked a brow. “Why Clark, I told her the truth.”

  
“You didn’t.” Clark said blankly. 

  
“Oh, I did.” Bruce said with a smile. “She knows what we’re doing this week.” Bruce brought the mug to his lips and sipped at it. “In fact, she’s asked to be kept updated. Which, I might add, I have been doing happily.” 

Clark groaned as he rubbed his hand into his eyes. “_ Why _ would you do that?” So now Diana was aware of his misery as well, Hell she was probably laughing along with Bruce at his misfortune whenever the two spoke.

“Because I can?” Bruce said his confusion evident. “I didn't realise I needed another reason.”

  
  
“Jesus, Bruce… Okay, fine, whatever. Tell Diana whatever you want. I don’t care.” It was a lie of course, but it wasn’t as if Clark could stop him even if he wanted to. No, Bruce was going to make this as hard as possible for him, so of course he’d get their friends involved. The prick.

“If it makes you feel any better, she’s the only one who knows.”

  
  
Clark would have voiced how quickly that could change, but Diana was never one to gossip and most likely enjoyed being the only one privy to this knowledge. He supposed he should be thankful that she was the one Bruce chose to confide in, as the thought of literally anyone else made Clark want to crawl into the nearest hole and live there for the rest of his life. He sighed. “Anything else you want to tell me before I go to work? Maybe you’ve hired a fleet of Bruce Wayne look-a-likes to mob me later? Or perhaps you’re planning on becoming a nudist?” If Bruce was already doing this much to make this week as hard as possible, Clark wouldn’t put it past him to take it further.

  
  
Bruce thought for a moment. “No, nothing like that…” He paused. “You will have your phone on you today, right?”

  
  
“Yes.” Clark said, quirking a brow. “Why?”

  
  
“No reason.” Bruce looked back down at his paper. “Have fun at work.”

“Bruce.” Clark said, setting his hands on the table. “As I have said before, I will happily indulge you in whatever this-” he waved his hand between them. “-is, when we are at home, but in public it could get very bad very quickly.” 

Bruce didn't look at all perturbed. “And?”

  
  
“And I can’t go around with an erection while at work today, okay? So whatever you have planned, don’t do it.”

  
  
“Sounds an awful lot like you’re making excuses.” Bruce said.

  
“I'm not-” Clark heaved a sigh. “Look, I'm being serious. This is my serious voice. Whatever you are planning, don’t do it.”

  
  
“I never agreed to that, though.” 

“It’s my _ work _ Bruce, you can’t-”

  
  
“If you can’t control your own body, it’s not my fault.” Bruce shrugged. “No, you better bring your phone with you or i’m doing something _ far _ worse.”

“Fine.” Clark stood up. “You wanna be a dick about this, _ fine _, but karma is a bitch, Bruce. I hope you realise that.”

He didn’t say goodbye, Bruce didn't deserve a bye, much less a good one. No, he deserved a bad bye, and Clark only thought about saying that too him as he was strolling into work and the moment had already passed. He kept it in his mind though, ready for the next opportunity, hoping it would burn Bruce with its sheer brilliance when he'd actually say it.

  
It was as he sat down and turned on his computer that Lois walked up to him, leafing through a stack of papers. “Morning Smallville, how was your weekend?”

  
  
Awful. Absolutely terrible. I wanted to die on multiple occasions. “It was great Lois, how about you?” 

She shrugged a shoulder. “Eh, it was alright. Had a major hangover on Saturday, but that's what I get for drinking anything called ‘mystery punch’. The mystery is always everclear. Remember that, Clark.” She walked away before quickly doubling back. “Also team meeting in 5.”

  
  
“Wait, what?” Clark spun on his chair to face her. “Why?”

  
  
“Perry wants to do a briefing and update us all on some things, nothing major, and hey, we get to relax in the meeting room for a little bit so, small victories, eh?” 

  
Clark sighed. Usually a meeting would indeed be a nice break in the day, an hour of listening to Perry wittle on about nothing whilst he sat next to Lois and they’d doodle things on their notebooks to one another. It was boring, but if Perry was having meetings it meant he wasn’t breathing down people's necks about articles, so, as Lois had put it, small victories. 

He had however never had to deal with a Monday morning meeting when the only thing he could actually focus on at that moment in time was how his dick was apparently throbbing. Do dicks have pulses? Was his now alive and sentient? “Alright.” He said, despite the fact it was definitely not alright. 

“See you in a bit, i'll get us the good seats.” She said with a wink. As she walked off, Clark debated getting a head start on something, but considering it was only a few more minutes till the meeting he told himself there was no point. So he instead chose to occupy himself with scrolling through whatever articles were currently on the home page and wait.

  
He must have been so absorbed by the task he didn't actually notice everyone heading into the meeting room until, oh, yes, Lois was poking her head out and yelling at him to get his ass in here already.

Clark shot up from his seat and made his way to the room, Perry was already in there, sending him one of his patented looks as he tried to find a seat.

Lois had saved him a seat, but by the looks of it, Jimmy had taken it in his absence, so Clark was left to take one on the other side of the table, away from Lois. She made a face as her pen tapped the corner of her page. Clark could sympathise, Jimmy was a terrible doodle partner. 

He was next to one of the editors, who sent him a small smile as he sat next to her, and he would have returned it had Perry not chosen that moment to cough loudly. “Alright, now that everyone is here.” He gave another look to Clark for good measure. “We can begin.” 

Without Lois to doodle with, Clark was left with very few options to occupy his time. He spent a few minutes looking out the window, then he doodled a little stick man hanging from a tree, but one look at the editor’s face next to him when she saw it made him realise she was not as receptive to his macabre doodles as Lois was. He scribbled it out and sat back in his seat, trying to focus on what Perry was saying, but failing.

At one point Lois drew something and held it up to Clark. It was a stick man and another stick man, on two separate islands reaching for one another, and Clark cracked a smile at it. He’d have to tell Lois about his drawing afterward; she’d appreciate it at least.

It was as the meeting went from dull to downright monotonous that Clark felt his phone buzz. He chose to ignore it, and of course it buzzed again. And then again, and again. He had a feeling it would keep going until he looked, so as subtly as he could manage, he pulled his phone out and looked at it under the table. Pretty much everyone used their phones during these meetings anyway; once Perry got talking there was very little that stopped him and short of killing someone, you didn't have to worry about being caught.

So Clark opened up his messages and saw the most recent from Bruce. ‘Don't ignore me.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I'm in a meeting.’ He typed back.

Not even a second later his phone buzzed again. ‘Perfect. Watch what I sent you.’

Clark wanted to type ‘no’ and throw his phone out of the window but he thought against it when he remembered how he’d already antagonized Bruce more than enough this morning, and he genuinely feared never being able to have sex with him ever again if he made it any worse.

Sure enough, when Clark looked at the earlier messages, he saw a selection of video attachments. He had a vague, unrelenting, feeling deep in his gut that he knew what they’d be, and he angled his phone away and to the side under the table as he clicked on one. 

It was Bruce’s office. He was at work too, but unlike Clark, owned the place he worked in, so was allowed an office with walls. Clark’s little cubicle paled in comparison. The phone was focused on his computer, but there wasn’t anything on there aside from the few icons on his desktop, the camera didn’t linger long on it for long as it panned down to Bruce's crotch. 

Clark tried to keep his breathing even as he stared at the outline of Bruce's cock through the material. Okay, there was his hand, stroking said outline, that was fine. The volume was off (thank God) but Clark knew the kind of noises Bruce would be making, knew those little gasps he make as he touched himself.

Oh no. He felt his cock stirring. Not good. Abort. Bad idea. Very very very bad idea. He quickly glanced at the woman next to him, but her stare was on Perry, leaving Clark to angle himself on his chair, and cross his legs so as to keep his phone and dick out of view from prying eyes.

The clip wasn’t too bad in the end, it was mostly just Bruce rubbing his clothed erection. But Clark bleakly realised there were multiple attachments sent if how much his phone had vibrated was anything to go by, and Bruce was going to demand he watched them all. His phone vibrated after the first clip was done. ‘Enjoy it? You still have 2 more.’

Clark made a face. ‘How did you know I watched it?’

‘I have my ways.’ Came Bruce’s infuriatingly cryptic response. 

The thought of pressing start on the next video and letting it play under the table whilst he ignored it crept into his mind, but he knew Bruce would have already anticipated that. Clark could already see the quiz coming his way when he got home. It would be something along the lines of ‘what colour were the underwear I wearing as I wrapped my hand around my dick?’ and ‘what time was in on my watch when I came?’ 

With a sigh, he clicked on the next video.

Yup. His penis was now out, his hand was indeed wrapped around it, and Clark took a mental note of the fact that Bruce's underwear were blue today. His hand was making its way up and down his length slowly, and Clark knew he was being fucked with harder than he could really comprehend fully at that moment. He hid his phone from view for a moment and looked at Perry for a minute trying his best to convey that he was at least paying the bare minimum of attention. 

It was as he caught Lois’s eyes on him that he faltered, she quirked her head to the side and mouth a quiet ‘are you okay?’

Oh God, was it that obvious? He gulped and gave her the barest of head shakes, he looked back at his phone and there was a new message from Bruce.

  
‘You should be watching me, Kent.’

Clark’s mouth fell open. How was he…? He shook his head. No time to wonder how Bruce was somehow now psychic as well as a colossal asshole. The second clip was over, but he now had the third clip and clicked on it.

The stroking was getting faster, with Bruce’s thumb coming up to swipe the head. Some deep part of Clark’s mind wanted to hear the sounds, wanted to hear Bruce’s moans and the sound of his hand on his cock, but the rational part of him reminded him that he was still in a meeting, surrounded by coworkers, and that this was only going to end one way, and that way was ‘fucking bad.’ 

“Clark?” 

He jolted as if struck, he shoved the phone back into his pocket as he eyed Perry wildly. “Yes?” 

  
Perry raised a brow. “Are you okay, you look a little…” 

Everyone's eyes were on him, and the idea that he was this close to being caught caused his stomach to drop and he let out a choked breath. “I-” why was he panting? 

  
“Oh, Clark.” Lois was up and walking over to him, rubbing his back. “Jimmy pass me the waste basket. I think he’s gonna be sick.” She held out her hand and Jimmy lent over to grab the edge of it and handed it over to her. She held it in front of him, and as if she were an angel, Clark looked at her in awe.

  
  
“No Lois, I think-” but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially one as perfect as this, and using every ounce of acting talent he had, he held his hand to his mouth. “Oh no.” He got up shakily, and sure enough everyone in his nearby vicinity slid their chairs out of his way as quickly as possible. He half ran, half hobbled out of the room, hoping that hunch in his posture would be attributed to sickness and not the fact he was trying desperately to obscure an erection. He kept going until he slammed the door of the bathroom open, and made a point of faux gagging as he fell against the toilet.

After his efforts to sound thoroughly wrecked, he could hear the door open behind him not long after and before they could peak in, he flushed the toilet, holding himself over it. “Clark?” Lois pushed open the door, peeking in at him. “Are you okay?”

  
  
“Lois.” He said, forcing a burp out. “I think I'm gonna be here a while.”

  
  
She nodded. “Okay, I'll let Perry know.” She gently eased the door shut. 

Once he was alone, he used this moment of privacy to collect himself. That was too close. He pulled out his phone and saw the notification from Bruce. ‘So you just ran out of the room, huh? Lame’

Clark clenched his fist. ‘You fucker. This isn't funny. I could lose my job here. I'm not doing this anymore.’ After he pressed send, he quickly sent another message, that only contained the words ‘fuck you’ and then went back to his task of staring into a toilet bowl. 

Once he deemed enough time had passed, he made his way out of the cubicle, and used water from the sink to dampen his shirt and face, he even did a few passes through his hair for good measure and pulled his shirt free from his pants on one side. He looked at himself, and yup, he looked like shit.

  
He pushed open the door and made his way back to his cubicle, sitting down at his seat with a long sigh. It didn't take long for Lois to peak out from beside him and slide her chair over. “Feeling better?”

  
  
Clark sent her a shaky nod. “A little.”

  
  
“I knew you didn’t look right this morning.” Lois said as she crossed her arms. “Do you think you have the flu?”

  
  
““Maybe. I mean, I felt a little off yesterday, but I felt better this morning." He sent her a pained smile. "I'm sure it will pass.”

Lois shook her head. “No, you should be home, resting.”

  
  
He let out a sigh. “Lois, i'll be fine.”

  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I mean it, go talk to Perry. You are never sick, so this must be something serious.”

  
  
He really would need to buy Lois something rather spectacular to make up for how much he was straight up lying to her right now. He already knew the guilt from today would eat him alive later on in life, but in this moment, all he could dwell on was how great some time off from work would feel right about now. He heaved a sigh. “Alright… I'll talk to him.” 

“Good.” She brought her hand to his back, and gave it a reassuring pat. “Perry may be a hard ass, but he is human. If he makes you work the rest of the day, then I guess Jimmy wins the bet on him secretly being Satan.”

  
  
Clark would have added that he had already met Satan, and he was in fact the billionaire playboy of Gotham, but chose to keep his mouth shut, and slowly stood up and made his way over to Perry's office.

  
He knocked on it a few times, and lent on the wall beside it until he heard Perry yell from within. As he opened the door, he could see Perry at his desk, furiously typing with one hand as he waved Clark in with the other. “Kent.”

  
  
“Perry.” Clark stepped in and plopped himself down in one of the chairs, letting out a breath. “Sorry about this morning.”

  
  
Perry paused in his typing. “You know what you got?”

  
  
“Lois thinks its the flu, and I'm inclined to agree with her.” He sat back in his seat. “Was a little feeling off yesterday but thought I'd gotten over it.” He shook his head. “But obviously not.”

“Obviously.” Perry said, he raised a brow as he looked at Clark sharply. “You going to the doctor?”

  
  
“Yeah, I think so.” Clark said, looking down at his lap.

“And am I to be expecting this sort of thing for the rest of the day?” 

“Maybe.”

Perry looked at him for a while. It was another of his looks, the kind that was meant to unsettle you with its intensity. If you cracked, Perry knew you weren't serious. If you held strong, he knew you were. It also had the added bonus of making Clark quake in his seat, ready for Perry to see through his barely put together facade and call him out on all of his shit. “Kent.” He began, and Clark couldn't tell from the tone of his word which way this was going to swing. “Would working from home this week be easier for you?”

  
  
Clark tried not to let his elation show, but he was fairly certain his eyes lit up more than they should have done. “It would, Perry.”

  
  
“Well, alright then.” Perry was already going back to work, picking up his pen and quickly writing down something on the paper before him. “Go home for the day, and book yourself a doctor’s appointment and work from home the rest of the week.” He stopped, and pointed the pen at Clark. “And I expect you back on your A game come Monday.”

  
  
“Of course.” He said with a nod. “Thanks, Perry.”

But Perry was already back to typing, not looking at Clark as he spoke. “Get going, Kent.”

  
  
Clark slowly got up and left the room, making his way back to his desk and letting out a sigh so long that it felt like his entire body was depressurising. “Thank God.” he mumbled to himself as he slid deeper into his seat.

  
  
“How did it go?” Lois asked as she poked her head around the wall.

He sent her a small smile. “Good. Gonna head home for the day, book a doctor's appointment and work from home the rest of the week.”

  
“Lucky, maybe you'll give me that flu and then _ I _ can have a relaxing week working from home.” She winked at him, and Clark would have told her his week was going to be far from relaxing, with Satan being his live in boyfriend, but again decided against it. 

“Here's hoping.” He said as he got up and grabbed his stuff, shouldering on his coat. “See you, Lois.”

  
  
“Get better soon, Smallville.” She waved at him and he soon made his way out of the building and out onto the streets.

He should not be feeling so good right now. He had lied to his boss, one of his closest friends, and nearly got caught watching porn in a meeting, yet here he was; smiling. He shook his head, yup, definitely going to Hell.

He stopped off at his apartment to pick up some of his work gear, mostly his laptop that was older and slower than a giant tortoise but as it still functioned meant he couldn't justify getting a new one, and made his way over to Gotham to go deal with whatever Bruce had in store for him next.

Even as he felt his phone vibrate, he ignored it. He didn't want to know how screwed he was, and if he just didn't look at his phone, he could live in comfortable denial, and everything would be okay. 

Bruce wasn’t home yet. No, he still had a full day of work ahead of him, and Clark made a point of relishing in this time alone that he had. Obviously, the things he would do normally with an entire manor to himself were off limits at this present time, but he did park himself in the lounge and turn on the TV, taking the time to just relax and not think about Bruce, or anything else about him for that matter, even his socks.

He didn’t know where the day had gone. He had a nap at one point, and it must have been a long one as he could now hear Bruce’s car in the driveway. It was dark outside when he peeked through the curtain, watching Bruce walk from the drive to the door. He made his way into the entrance hall.

When Bruce stepped inside, he quirked a brow at Clark. “So, how was work?”

  
  
Clark crossed his arms. “Don’t let my calm exterior fool you, I am this close to throwing you into the sun, you walking colostomy bag.” 

Bruce took off his jacket and hung it up. “Rude.” He set down the rest of his stuff and made his way over to Clark, easing off his tie. “I thought you'd like my videos.”

“I was in a meeting; surrounded by coworkers, my boss was there. Do you have any idea-” he heaved a sigh. “I'm not getting into this right now.” He made to walk away, before turning back. “Besides, the jokes on you, i’m working from home the rest of this week, so have fun trying to fuck with me now, Satan.” 

He knew Bruce wanted to have the last word, but he wouldn’t let him, so he sped up the stairs and into their room, slamming the door shut for good measure, before he could make any snide remark at Clark's expense. 

Bruce made dinner, but didn't make a point to call Clark down for it, so Clark sure as Hell wasn’t going to go down their of his own accord. No, he’d do the adult thing and wait for Bruce to leave for patrol, then sneak down and eat the leftovers.

Once he had finished being a scavenging hobo in his own home, he went back upstairs to bed. He stole all of the pillows and blankets from the bed and cocooned himself in them, like an adult. After he’d done that, he didn't bother to wait for Bruce to come home before he went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are all enjoying Clark's misery :D At least he caught one break, right? Working from home for the rest of the week should make things easier for him.............. Right?? 
> 
> I hope y'all are both looking forward to and worried for what Bruce has planned next for Clark. As always, thank you so much for your lovely comments and Kudos! They mean the world to me <3 Till next time! :D


	4. TUESDAY

__ The morning went as well as Clark could have hoped for. 

His penis was behaving for the moment, but how long it would remain that way was an uncertainty. He rose from the bed, and after a quick shower went down to the kitchen, finding Bruce in his usual spot at the counter, the paper already in front of him.

“Hey.” He said as he walked into the kitchen.

  
Bruce looked up, quirking his brow. “Good morning.”

Clark contemplated just how he would say what he wanted to say, but with Bruce he found being as direct as possible was always the best course of action.“Look.” He said as he walked over to the table, sliding into the seat. “I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday.”   


  
Clark didn't know whether he was happy or annoyed that Bruce looked somewhat surprised by that. “Oh?”

  
  
“Yeah.” He said with a nod. “I know you’re just having fun, and I know a normal person could probably shrug it off or, Hell, appreciate it for what it is, but you know I'm not normal, and this week has been pretty hard for me.”  _ In more ways that one _ , he almost added. “So what I guess I'm trying to say, I’m sorry for being a horny asshole.”

Bruce made a face. “Okay.”

Clark wanted to say he had expected more from Bruce, but one word answers were sort of his brand, so he just heaved a sigh. “Are we okay?”

  
  
That had the intended effect, as Bruce looked genuinely concerned for a moment. “Of course, Clark. We’ll always be okay.”

  
  
He huffed a laugh at that. “I don't know… If this week is proving anything it's that we’re not normal, well,  _ I’m _ not normal...” He set his elbows on the table, bringing his hand to his face. “No. Normal people don’t think about sex as much as I do, or touch themselves as much as I do…” He sighed. “Or do literally anything sexual as much as I do. It just makes me think I'm gonna ruin what we have with it all one day. Like, soon you’ll think ‘yeah I can’t deal with this anymore’ and that would be it.”

  
Bruce's eyes blew wide, and Clark could see he’d struck multiple nerves. His hand reached and found Clark's, clasping it tightly. “Clark, you do not need to worry about that ever happening.”

  
  
“But wasn’t that what you did this all for?” Clark said, leveling his stare at Bruce. “You were annoyed about me-” he waved down at himself. “And you were right. I can't even handle a week, Hell, not even a week. I’m struggling after a couple days, so what does that say about me? Am I always going to be like this? When I’m 80 am I still going to be as big of a hormonal mess?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t show nearly the depth of what must have been going on in his mind from Clark’s words. No, if anything, he looked remarkably calm. It was only his heart beat that showed he was anything but. “No, that wasn't what I was doing with this week.” Bruce said evenly. “I was making a bet with you, one that I made because I thought I'd win. This week was for my own benefit, it has nothing to do with you're sex drive. I promise.” 

But something in his phrasing caught him, and because Clark knew Bruce’s tells better than anyone, he knew he wasn't saying the whole truth; perhaps only a part of it. “Right, you wanted to win. That's all this was.” 

His eyes flickered. “Of course.” 

Clark only nodded. “Okay.”

  
  
But Bruce knew he had mismanaged something along the course of the conversation, and was not happy with the outcome. He tapped his fingers on the counter as he looked at Clark. He wanted to say something else, but didn't. He got up from the counter and made his way over to Clark, bringing his lips to his forehead. “I love you.” He said softly.

Clark appreciated the sentiment, and wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist. “I love you too, B.” He pulled back and the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Have fun at work today.”

  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mister ‘I get to work from home,’ don't rub it in.” Bruce stepped away, readjusting his tie. “Some of us have actual jobs they need to attend to.”

  
“Please, like you’re not going to be spending your day messing with me instead of actually working.” Clark said, leaning on the counter.

  
Bruce looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, I don’t think I will today.”

  
  
“Right.” Clark rolled his eyes. “Got it.”

  
  
Bruce however didn't crack. “No, I mean it. I genuinely have nothing planned. I'll see you this afternoon.” He left the room soon after and Clark was left to stare at the doorway. 

Clark waited, then waited some more. Surely Bruce wasn’t just going to leave him alone, with nothing more spurious planned. He watched as he drove from the Manor, then kept watching some more as he drove further away towards the city. Eventually it dawned on him that, perhaps like yesterday, his methods of teasing Clark would be more long distance, so with mild trepidation, he got up from the counter, went to get his work laptop, and parked himself back in the kitchen; coffee, phone and laptop at the ready.

Working from home was somewhat of a luxury that Clark seldom got to experience. He preferred the environment of the office. Having Lois and the others a short walk away should he need anything. 

He also found himself even less able to keep focus when he didn't have the threat of Perry appearing behind him at any moment to keep him in check. He spent as long as he could reading through articles and editing what he had written, but eventually it was lunch time, and after eating he had even less motivation to keep going.

He checked his phone. There was nothing. No new messages from Bruce. He set it back down with a sigh, and when he heard it vibrate, he picked it up with far more vigor than he really should have done. He then set it back down because it was nothing more than weather notification. Overcast skies and a twenty five percent chance of rain.

He tried to go back to work, but he was anticipating any moment for Bruce to drop his bomb shell. His coup de grace. His ‘you really thought I wasn’t going to mess with you?’ any moment now.

As of yet, there was nothing, so he went to his phone, toying with the idea of messaging Bruce first, to let him know he was wise of his antics.

But that didn't happen. He was sidetracked by what Bruce had sent him the day before.  _ I never did get to finish the videos _ , he thought to himself and before he even realised what he was going, he clicked on the most recent one, and unlike before, he was able to turn up the volume. 

_ “God, Clark, fuck- I, I need it, please. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please, please-” _

He closed it quickly and set the phone down, immediately regretting what he had done. 

His dick on the other hand was contemplating just why Clark would treat him to that particular audio feast, only to pull the dish out from under it before it could finish enjoying it. 

He realised bleakly he was the one torturing himself here. Bruce was sat at work, actually keeping to his word of not messing with him for the day, and here Clark was, doing the dirty work for him.

“God damn it.” He muttered to himself as he shut his laptop. This was getting too much. Bruce wasn’t even  _ here _ , he wasn’t even  _ trying _ to mess with him, yet here he was, lost in a miasma of arousal as he tried in vain to focus on his work. 

“Will you just please go away?” He said, staring down at his own crotch.

  
  
_ ‘Well, if you just did a good ole search on that there laptop for some nice, wholesome, homosexual porn, and give me a grip and tug while you’re at it, I will be on my way.’ _

Clark didn’t dignify his penis with a response. He fell forward, his head colliding with the counter top as he did. He should go and drown it in the shower, but as he contemplated how much effort was involved with leaving the room and doing that, he decided against it. “Mind over matter, Clark. You can do this.” He schooled himself as he reached forward and opened his laptop back up.

  
_   
_ _ ‘Yes, good, now type into the search thingie ‘Pornhub.’ Then, type ‘horny cum sluts' and on the third page there’s that video with a guy that looks a bit like Bruce, if you squint, getting railed by like four other dudes. You know the one, it ends with him getting creampied.’ _

Clark pursed his lips and closed the laptop again. “Okay, yeah no, you need to die.” He got up from the counter.

  
_ ‘Wait! We can talk about this, I’m sorry, okay? But this isn’t good for you! I need a release, and I can’t do that unless you cooperate.’ _

“Yeah, no, this isn't up for debate. You cum when I say so.” 

_ ‘But… you have you're one…. Why won’t you use it? Do you like torturing me?! I will exact my revenge, I swear-’ _

“That’s it!” He started to march out of the room.

  
  
_ ‘Wait!’ _

Clark didn’t know why he did, but he stopped, hand on the doorway. “What?” _ _

_ ‘Why the shower head? Don't you want to try something… different?” _

__   
  
“Different?” Clark frowned. “You know we’re talking about killing you here, why are you trying to help me?”

_ ‘Oh, you can't kill me, i'll always come back. But, I in the mean time, I've been having some thoughts about ‘things’ to try.” _

“Oh?” 

_ ‘Open the freezer.’ _

  
Clark looked towards the unit in question, quirking a brow. He would say he was surprised by the suggestion, but he wasn't.

(Because dear readers, the part of Clark’s brain that was in charge of his penis and bad ideas, was still a part of Clark’s brain, and as such, most ideas it came up with did in fact come from his greater consciousness, and any annoyance Clark felt over its shenanigans was short lived as he was the one who thought of it in the first place.) 

He approached the freezer, and opened it dubiously. There were a few ice trays, a bag of peas, and at the back, somewhat obscured by tupperware containing frozen meals, sat two pints of ice cream. One mint chip, the other rocky road. He quirked a brow. “Well?”

  
_   
_ _ ‘Pick up the mint chip.’ _

He did as he was told, reaching through and brushing his hand past the build up ice. He pulled out the tub, and read the words on top, written in sharpie. ‘TIM’S. DO NOT TOUCH.’ Clark felt his confusion rising. “Why-”

  
  
_ ‘Hush, my child. Just look at it for a moment.’ _

Clark did just that, lifting the tub up and appraising its outside. It looked cheap, not at all like the kind of thing Bruce would buy if he were in such a mood as to actually buy ice cream. When he opened the lid, he stared at the near neon green surface, dotted with brown flecks, which, when he looked at the ingredients, were barely able to call themselves chocolate. “Well?”

  
_ ‘Wouldn't you say… it's the perfect size…. To fuck?’ _

Clark balked. “What?” He nearly dropped the tub

_ ‘Don't lie to me. I know you've thought of it, so think about it again! You're so hot right now I bet you could melt a hole in it with your cock alone.’ _

He closed his eyes, trying to block out whatever was going on right now. “Stop. It.”

  
  
_ “Oh, but I will. All you need to do for that to happen is put me in that nice, cool, icecream.’ _

Was he going to do this? He gingerly brought his finger up and pressed into the middle of the tub. It was soft, having not been too harshly chilled by the freezer. Clark stared at the cream as it melted around his finger, he pressed another into it, delving deeper into the pint. He bit his lip.   
  


Clark set the tub down as he hurriedly went for his belt buckle, and with clumsy hands worked his pants down, finally freeing his erection. He hissed as the cool air of the room hit it, but shivered at the thought of how much cooler it was going to get. 

He reached for the tub, and with one hand braced on the counter top, he brought the one holding the tub to his cock.

  
The first contact took him by surprise. He was trying to decide if it hurt or not. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, with the cool cream not giving way immediately to his dick, but with some time and a little coaxing, the ice cream started to melt, and bit by bit, he was able to get the tub down his shaft.

He held it there, and for a while, it seemed to be working. It was ice cold cream on his dick after all, and before long he could feel himself calming down.

But that was just it. The cream was melting, and his dick having already become somewhat accustomed to the cold, meant that the thing that had been doing a good job of killing his erection, was now stocking it back to life again. He pulled the tub off, and stared down at his cock. It was still hard, and now had the added bonus of being covered in mint green goop. He debated cutting his loses and running up the shower, but some small part of him told him to slide the tub back on. 

Which he did.

Like an idiot.

It was nothing like Bruce. Or anything he could adequately compare it to other than a pint of ice cream, but it was slick and it enveloped him and with his mind thoroughly preoccupied with how good it was beginning to feel, he didn’t really have time to dwell on just what he was doing. He pulled the tub back and slid it back on again, his thrusts becoming more frequent, faster, until-

Was that the door?

He didn't have time to think about that. He was so close, so so close.  
  


  
Footsteps?

Any second now.

“Clark, are you…  _ fucking _ Tim’s icecream?”

Clark whirled on the door, before he quickly looked down at himself, ready to come up with a very plausible excuse for what he was doing, and maybe even rebrand it as ‘totally not fucking a pint of icecream’ whilst he was at it, but he couldn’t exactly do that with his dick still currently buried in said tub. He slowly pulled it off and set it on the counter, the clear indentation of his penis staring up at him. “Uh.” Clark frowned down at himself as he quickly came up with the rest of his sentence. “Why are you home so early?”

  
  
“I worked a half day.” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes. “And you still haven't answered my question.”

  
  
Right. The question. He looked down at himself again. “I was just… Trying something.”

  
  
“Trying something.” Bruce said stepping forward. Shock was a rare emotion for Bruce to display, but there it was, clear as day for Clark to see. “What? Were you  _ trying _ to eat it?” 

  
Damn, that would have been a good thing to go for. He could have made up some bullshit about Kryptonian physiology and Bruce would have had no choice but to buy it. Instead the truth seemed like the best course of action, so with a beleaguered sigh he spoke. “Okay, fine, I was hard and instead of a shower I thought about putting it in something cold, and here we are!” 

“There is an ice tray…. In the freezer.” Bruce said slowly.

  
“Yeah, well, I can’t stick my dick in an ice tray, Bruce! The icecream was the perfect size.” 

  
“Yes, and now you have to explain to Tim why it has your  _ dick  _ imprinted in it.” He deadpanned.

“I’ll buy him a new one.” Clark said with a wave of the hand.

For a while neither spoke, with Clark trying not to think too much about the sticky ice cream currently coating his dick, and with Bruce watching him intently. That stare of his soon shifted, no longer one of shock and instead displaying a level of calm that had Clark very worried for what was about to follow.

  
“What are you going to do with it now?” Bruce said crossing his arms, the barest of smiles on his lips. "Eat it?"   


He felt heat blossom in his stomach. “Maybe.”

“You should eat it.” Bruce said stepping forward towards the tub. He lifted it up, appraising it. His tongue darted out and swiped his lips. “Or did you want me to?”

  
_ Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.  _

_ ‘You should come in it then make him eat it.’ _

_ _

_ You aren't allowed to talk right now.  _

_ ‘ _ _ Or  _ _ he _ _ should come in it and then you eat it.’  _

_ Stop. Talking.  _

“Uh.” Was all he said.

But Bruce was already stepping away towards the cutlery drawer, pulling it open. He picked up a spoon, and hopped onto the counter. He brought the spoon to the rapidly softening cream, flicking his eyes over to Clark as he scooped it up. He slid the spoon it into his parted lips. “Do you want some too?” Bruce said as he sucked the spoon.

Clark didn't speak, but he did give a shallow nod as he approached him. Bruce was already getting another spoonful ready, lifting it up to Clark’s lips. He kept his eyes on Bruce as he wrapped his lips around it, letting the mint-chip melt in his mouth before he slid off the metal. Bruce bit his lip as he smiled, already bringing the spoon back down to scoop up another bite.

They alternated, Bruce would have a bite, then Clark, and slowly they made their way through the tub. He wanted to say he could taste something more than just the mint, but he had a feeling it was a memory he was tasting. Maybe it was what he knew Bruce’s cock tasted like, merging with the mint, fooling him into thinking he could taste his sweat; his precum. 

All he knew, was the more they ate, the harder he got. Smearing Bruce’s thigh with green as he leaned over him for every bite. 

Once finished, Bruce set the tub down, and went back to licking the spoon, despite there being nothing left on it for him to taste. He held it in his mouth for a moment as he smiled at Clark, he then pulled it out slowly. “I still want more.” He said quietly.

  
Clark was about to say they could grab the tub of rocky road that was also in the freezer, but when Bruce slid off the counter onto the floor he realised very quickly what Bruce had in mind, and he froze. Was he going to do this?

_ ‘Yes, you idiot. You have one in the bag! Use it.’ _

No. He coul dn’t crack now. He was doing so well, but Bruce was already on his dick and it seemed rude to tell him to stop. 

His tongue gently swiping at a droplet of ice cream from his tip. Clark slammed his hand onto the counter, fairly certain he’d cracked it. He didn't care. He'd forgotten how good that felt. 

Slowly Bruce took all of him in his mouth, his tongue gingerly working its way around his length, as though in search for every drop of cream on it.

It took everything in Clark’s being to not grab Bruce’s head and fuck it relentlessly. Of course he could. He knew he could. Maybe that was why he was even allowing this to happen in the first place. If he came now, it wasn’t the end, it was allowed.

But that was just it. Bruce wanted this. He wanted Clark to fail and saw this one release as the first domino in the sequence, something to topple over and destroy all hope Clark had of winning this week. Then Bruce would be declared the winner, something which, according to the man, was the only reason for this week ever occurring. 

He knew something wasn’t true about that idea, but Clark had little time to dwell on as he was becoming aware of the very real possibility of assaulting Bruce’s throat with sperm any moment now. Bruce had worked all of Clark into his mouth, his nose tickling the hairs of Clark’s crotch, and held himself there for a moment, looking up at Clark as innocently as he could manage with a dick in his mouth, which wasn't much as you can probably imagine. 

He then slowly pulled away, the flat of his tongue grazing along him as he did, before letting Clark’s dick fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. He then smiled up at Clark. “Well?”

You demon. You actual human asshole. You demonic smegma ball. Clark had a whole list of insults ready, but none of them came out. His mind was currently a burning office building, and his brain cells were running around trying to salvage whatever they could from the blaze. As such, the one cell that must have been left in charge, was a temp who clearly regretted coming into work today, and only took the reins because someone else was yelling at him too. “Thanks.” He said dumbly.

Bruce’s face fell by the barest of fractions. Only Clark would have been able to pick up on it, because as soon as he saw it, it was gone. Bruce stood up, wiping the dust of his knees. “You’re welcome.” 

“It’s not really clean though, is it?” Clark said, the singular brain cell doing a remarkable job of dumping a metaphorical bucket of water on this whole situation.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Maybe it will teach you not to go shoving your dick into tubs of ice cream?”

  
  
Clark blew a raspberry. Already conceding himself to the fact his dick was definitely going into that rocky road by the end of the week. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Clark looked down at the purple head of his erection. “Well, it worked for a little bit. Until you did that.”

  
  
“Maybe stick to the shower head.” Bruce said as he turned from Clark sharply, making his way from the room.

Clark would have let him go, would have made his way silently to the shower, if he wasn’t aware of something as he saw Bruce walk away from him. “Wait.” He said as he pointed a finger at Bruce. "You're hard too."

Bruce stopped in the doorway, turning to Clark, his face unimpressed. “I am.”

  
  
“You want to have sex with me.” Clark said slowly, a tentative idea forming in his mind.

  
“Yes?” Bruce leaned on the doorway. “I don't see how this is new information to you."

But that was it. Suddenly, it clicked in Clark’s mind what this week was actually about, the smile went from his face, replaced with a quiet look of realization. "You're horny too." He said slowly. "You  _ want _ to have  _ sex _ ."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Yes, Clark, sucking mint flavored goop off your dick has given me an erection and unlike  _ you _ I can go deal with it in a far more pleasurable way.” 

Clark couldn’t help but grin. "But that's just it." Clark said, his voice dipping. “You can go touch yourself all you want, but it's not the same as me  _ fucking _ you, is it?”

  
  
Bruce may have had an iron will, but he was still human and Clark just so happened not to be. His heart beat grew faster, and Clark’s grin grew right along with it. “Oh my God, I  _ finally _ have it, my silver lining in this whole shit show. You hate this just as much as I do.”

  
  
Bruce frowned. “No, I don't.”

  
  
“Please.” Clark stepped forward. “You  _ want _ me to fuck you, you  _ want _ me to break and you thought you could handle this week just fine waiting for me to, but you’re cracking.” Clark grinned.

  
  
“I can go masterbate as many times as I want, unlike  _ you _ .”

  
  
“Yeah, you keep saying that but…” In a heartbeat, Clark was across the room, pinning Bruce against the wall. Holding his hands above his head with ease. “A toy can’t  _ fuck _ you, can it? A toy can’t pin you and take what it wants.” 

Bruce’s bit his lips as he let out a shuddery breath. Clark would have let Bruce rut up against his thigh like he knew he wanted to  _ if _ he were feeling kind, but he wasn’t. Bruce being a total asshole made being one back so much easier. “No, a toy can’t do that, and you know it. You wanted me to  _ fuck _ you, that’s what this whole week was really about, wasn’t it? You don’t care about 'winning', you just wanted me to snap and fuck you. You just didn’t think I’d last this long."

  
  
“But I have.” Clark said, pulling Bruce’s arms up higher, forcing him to get on his tiptoes. Clark leant in close, his lips grazing Bruce’s ear. “Which you didn't anticipate, did you? You thought i’d snap after a day, bend you over a table and fuck you  _ raw _ . Fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk for a week. That’s what you’ve been wanting all along, it’s what you still want.”

Bruce swallowed thickly, Clark could see his pulse on his neck and brought his lips to it, licking it. “Bruce, if you wanted me to fuck you like the actual piece of shit you are, you could have just asked.” Clark pulled back, relishing the look of desperation on Bruce’s face. “But no, you had to do  _ this- _ " he pressed his thigh hard against Bruce's crotch, hard enough for him to wince "- torture me and push me, wait for me to snap." He stepped back, letting Bruce slide down the wall. “And Bruce? After all that? All I can say, is when we do have sex, either as my one off or after this week is done and you’ve lost, I promise that  _ you  _ are not going to cum.” 

Bruce practically growled. “You-”

  
  
“Now now. Don’t say anymore. You wouldn't want to go and make things worse for yourself, would you?” Clark crossed his arms with a grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m gonna go have a shower.” He came forward again, reaching for Bruce’s erection and groping it through his pants. “Now you go have fun fucking a toy and pretending it’s me.” Clark kissed Bruce on the forehead before he flew out of the room.

He was so giddy it was unreal, his head was in the clouds and the only thing he could focus on was the fact this week was finally starting to look up.

The rest of the evening was spent with Bruce giving him the silent treatment, but that was fine. Clark’s mood couldn’t be dampened, no matter how much Bruce sought to ruin it with pointed looks and silence. No, Clark was so happy that the rest of the week suddenly felt as though it would be a whole lot easier to handle. 

He slept like a baby, apparently having never heard of the phrase pride before a fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Here it is!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, as well as seeing Clark finally getting the upper hand over Bruce. I had a lot of fun with this chapter as you can probably tell XD 
> 
> Anyway, till next time! :D


	5. WEDNESDAY

Come morning, Bruce appeared to be for all intents and purposes pretending that yesterday never happened.

  
  
Clark however was keen to keep the memory of yesterday alive. 

Mostly because he still couldn't believe it actually happened. 

He had gained the upper hand over Bruce. 

Clark was still surprised he even got the upper hand to begin with, then again, he supposed Bruce just hadn’t anticipated this week going on for as long as it had. 

In all his planning, Bruce was so focused on Clark, he hadn't even considered himself a factor. 

Since they started their relationship, they had sex almost every night, with the only exceptions being when they had missions, or when work wouldn’t allow for them to spend the evening together. 

Clark had assumed it was from his own monumental sex drive that they did do it as much as they did and that Bruce put up with it all rather than craved it to the same extent as Clark.

If this week was showing him anything however, it was that Bruce was just as bad as he was. 

He was just better at hiding it than Clark.

Clark was sure there was more that Bruce wasn’t telling him about all of this, but like most things in relation to Bruce, he wasn't going to make it easy for Clark to find out. 

Thankfully, Clark had time, and more importantly, he was motivated.

When Clark spent more time than necessary thinking about how many different ways today could go, he stepped into the kitchen, and expected some amount of frostiness from Bruce. After all, he hasn't exactly been pleasant yesterday, and getting one of Bruce’s looks in response seemed par for the course, all things considered, but in the end all Clark received was a short nod before Bruce went back to reading his paper.

Right. Of course. He was deep in the belief that yesterday did in fact 'not' happen. 

Clark could sympathise. Once this week was over he planned on filing it away in the ‘weird shit he and Bruce had done that normal people would definitely give them weird looks for’ section in his memory, but for now, he was focused more on assessing just how Bruce was feeling this morning.

  
From the bare amount he could gleen from his expression and posture, he could tell he was pissed. Like most things in regards to Bruce, it was subtle, but it was there. You just had to look for it. His jaw was set, and the longer Clark stood there staring, the more his shoulders tensed up. He debated pissing him off further, but again, Bruce was definitely formulating his next steps and if Clark wasn’t careful he may just end up with a rock of Kryptonite in the face at the end of the week.

He sat down, reaching for some of the food Bruce had prepared and ate in quietly. They didn’t speak and the silence verged on unbearable. Something close to sadness crept into Clark’s mind, and he sighed. “I know your mad at me, but this is still just meant to be fun, right?” 

“Sure.” Bruce said, down at the paper.

Clark made a face. “I mean it Bruce, if this is gonna end up with you pissed at me and me pissed at you, I don't want to do it anymore.”

  
Bruce looked up then, and raised a brow. “So you’re giving up?”

“No.” Clark said, his frown growing. “It would be a draw. I didn’t lose and you didn’t win.”

  
  
Bruce quirked his head to the side. “But _ you’re _the one giving up.”

  
  
Clark huffed. “Only because you’re acting like a sore loser.”

  
  
“Excuse me?” Bruce said crossing his arms and sitting back. “I'm just here reading my morning paper and then _ you _come in and start complaining, and somehow expect me to say its a ‘draw’?”

“I'm not complaining.” Clark said through his teeth. 

Bruce pursed his lips. “Your mouth is open and all I hear are complaints, ergo, you’re complaining.” Bruce flipped onto the next page of the paper. “I was having quite a nice morning before you came in and started ‘complaining’ all over the place.”

  
“If being an insufferable ass is one of your ploys to get me to fuck you, it’s not gonna work.” Clark seethed. No, all it was doing was making him mad, but then again, he couldn’t deny the small pleasure he got from the idea of bending Bruce over the counter and making him beg. 

Maybe he was more into this than he thought.

Of course he couldn’t let Bruce know that.

“We’ll have to see about that.” Bruce said with a mocking smile as he got up. “I have to go to work now, enjoy your day here.” He said sweetly as he kissed Clark on the forehead. As he left he went past the freezer and opened it up, peering in before turning back to Clark. “There is still a pint of rocky road in there if you need it.” He said breezily and Clark had to fight the urge to throw the newspaper at Bruce as he walked away.

Soon he was alone in the kitchen, staring at the doorway Bruce had left through. He also realised, as he heard Bruce’s car leaving the manor, that he was still none the wiser as to what Bruce had planned for him today.

  
  
Great.

He decided not to dwell on it, and as usual, that meant he did nothing but dwell on it. He thought about Bruce in his office, planning some diabolical plot to snare Clark and he would have to grit his teeth and bare it because he was definitely not letting Bruce win now, not after he worked so hard, and especially not now that he had a chance of actually winning.

  
Work was a good thing to focus on he thought, and despite how little motivation he had to actually do any work, especially considering any one who was not living in this home thought Clark was still sick, he still felt he should do something. Maybe he could humour Perry a little, log on and answer some emails, proofread some articles, and then see how his fictitious illness was treating him come afternoon.

He couldn’t find his work laptop at first. Bruce must have moved it last night and after taking a leisurely stroll through the manor trying to find it, he saw it sitting on Bruce's desk in the study. He picked it up and made his way back to the kitchen, putting the coffee on whilst he pressed the power button.

  
A loud jingle that was definitely not one his laptop was known to make reached Clark's ears and he knew that something was amiss.

“What-” Clark looked at the screen.

**  
COMPUTER LOCKED. COMPUTER LOCKED. COMPUTER LOCKED.**

He reread what he was seeing and yet, no matter how many times he reread the words, he couldn’t make sense of it. 

He tapped on the keyboard, tried turning it off and on again, but no. He couldn’t access anything on the PC, much less work and the idea that he was going to get a very angry call from Perry any minute that he still hadn’t logged on, reared its way into his mind. 

It was working fine yesterday, but then again, he didn’t know if it was a virus or old age catching up with the thing that caused the current issue. All he did know was that he needed to find another computer. Thankfully, there was in the house that he knew of. It was in the room he’d found his laptop in and better still, he knew the password to it. He slammed the laptop shut, and made his way to Bruce’s study. 

He sat down at the desk, pulling his seat in, his hand already reaching for the power button. 

As he went to log on, his foot grazed against the side of the desk, catching on something.

Clark peeked down at his feet, and slowly eased his chair away to get a better look at what his foot had brushed past. At the bottom of the desk, where the patterned wood lay, there was a chunk of it that was jutting out ever so slightly from the rest of it. 

He got on his knees and ran his hand across the seam, as he looked to the other side of the desk and saw there was no such divot, he carefully put his finger on the slight lip on the wood and tried moving it.

It was as he pulled it out, that he realised it was a hidden compartment of sorts and Clark would have found the discovery more exhilarating, if what he found was anything other than what was actually there; namely, a tatty old notebook.

He pulled it out further and looked to see if there was anything else hidden inside, but no, that was it. He kept the drawer open for now and leafed through the notebook.

There were several random drawings which Clark presumed meant something to Bruce. Some notes that were written in what he thought may have been Arabic, whilst some were in English, but with Bruce’s handwriting being on par with a caffeine addicted toddler, Clark still couldn't make out what any of it meant. It was only as he got to the middle of the book that Clark was able to decipher something in the mess, it read as follows:

**Coding: after 7 attempts, any passcode works and user is sent to decoy account. All passcodes, once given admission, work as normal if used again (good for Clark)**

Clark frowned at the piece of paper, then he turned his attention back to the screen before him. He typed random words into Bruce’s computer, and sure enough on the seventh attempt he was met with the same screen he had seen when he had logged on the last time. He went and retyped all the ones that let him in before, and yes, they were all working. 

He frowned at the screen. His mind reeling at the implication, as well as what it all meant. He went back to the book, going through it carefully and trying to see if he could spot anything to answer any of his questions. 

On the third pass through, he saw something on one of the pages near the back. He had at first deemed it as gibberish, but on closer inspection he could make out the word at the beginning of it. “Passcode?” he said to himself as he read the sentence.

**PASSCODE: ‘901ijslkjasl-02-apoijsaksjd-1908i2w3e09iq-poidak3434’**

He looked at it, then went back to screen. He carefully typed out what was written and when he was done, pressed enter.

  
He didn’t know what he expected, but somehow he was disappointed. The screen was exactly the same as the one he had just been on, and the idea that this was another decoy entered his mind. 

It was as he began poking around in the files, that he saw far more on this account than the one he had been on, however. The webcam application was still there and again, Clark went in. He saw some clips of Bruce but ignored them for now, electing instead to delete all the videos that showed him finding the notebook and typing out the passwords. He then went back to his task, work now thoroughly forgotten.

Beside the webcam file, there was another simply labeled 'cameras’ and when he clicked on it, he was greeted with more files, each with a title announcing their location: ‘Shower’, ‘Bedroom’, ‘Kitchen’, ‘Pool’, ‘Gym’, 'Phone'. Clark could feel his mouth falling open the longer he stared at the files and against his better judgement he clicked on one.

It was filled with video clips of him, and if the thumbnail was anything to go by they were in fact, all of him in the shower. He clicked on one and according to the date, it had been filmed back in August.

The angle of the camera showed it was up high, and Clark wondered how he had never noticed it before. Then again, it never dawned on him to ever check for hidden cameras in his own home. He let out a breath as he sat back in the chair, watching the screen in much the same one would view a car crash; horrified, and yet unable to look away. In the clip, he was in the stall, lathering himself up and after a few minutes he began to wash his- yup, there it was, he started to jerk off.

His dick gave a sympathetic twitch and before he could dwell on that too long, he quickly clicked on the next one. Video after video of him in the stall and Clark was growing ever more confused, and somewhere deep beneath that and the mild panic, lay the part of his mind that was finding all of this far more exhilarating than any other part of him wanted to acknowledge. 

There was also anger of course, but Clark didn't know if it was because Bruce had filmed him without his consent for what seemed to be the entire length of their relationship or because he didn't apparently know Bruce well enough to figure out just why he was doing it.

He went onto another file, and was this time greeted with sub categories._ Yay _, he thought bleakly. ‘Sex’, ‘Masturbation’, ‘Changing’, 'Conversations.' 

Clark clicked on the first one. The thumbnails didn't show much, but as he scrolled down what felt like an inordinately long time, he came to the most recent video. Last Friday night. He clicked on it and relived that evening; seeing Bruce in that suit, ripping him out of it and finally the moment he condemned himself to this week of Hell he was currently experiencing. 

He took a moment to breath. This was already getting too much for him. He was aware that Bruce had certain 'characteristics' that Clark and most normal human beings would find somewhat strange, but this was something he had never anticipated. He minimised the video files for now and kept on exploring what else was on the computer.

It seemed with this access level, he could get into files from the Batcomputer from here, and with more digging he could even get into Wayne Tech. He didn't pry too far into either, not wanting to accidentally alert Bruce to what he was doing here any more than necessary.

That was a thought. What would Bruce say if he found out Clark knew about his cameras? Nothing, Clark thought, in fact he'd probably just call Clark rude for invading his privacy, and Clark would roll his eyes as the irony of the situation would he completely lost on Bruce. 

After a while of staring at nothing, and collecting what little of his sanity he felt he had left, he went back to the videos and went to click on one, but as he did, he grazed the right mouse button instead, and was greeted with text. ‘Holds me down. Pulls hair. Bit me. Good fuck. 8.’

Clark didn't think he could grow more bewildered, but there it was. Slowly he went through a few more files and videos, right clicking on them and being shown the notes on said video. Some were minimal, others were full on paragraphs, and a few had no words at all, only a number.

He clicked on one that only had the number 3 written for it and Clark remembered that evening in question, they had been tired after a mission and the sex hadn’t been great for either of them. He knew it hadn’t been his best performance, but seeing Bruce rate him a 3 hit him square in the gut and pulled him down lower than he was already feeling. 

He then went to one with the number 10 in the text, and it was the time Clark had been particularly het up one evening. They'd gotten into some form of argument, and he doesn't remember much, bar the fact he bent Bruce over his lap and-

He bit his lip as he watched the video. He slapped him on the ass, just the once, and judging from the noise Bruce made, he should have done it a few more times, but he didn’t. He couldn’t remember why, maybe he didn't think he enjoyed it, maybe he was scared he’d hurt him. He didn’t know, but according to that little number in the box, this was one of the better evenings of sex they’d had.

Most did have some form of a written note to go with them, and Clark went back to the shower file to see if they too had this format, and they did. The one he happened to click on the first time, was paired with the phrase. ‘Good view of cock. Says name. 6.’ 

Clark let out a breath, and with an almost maddening obsession, he went through each video, right clicking and seeing what Bruce thought about them. Seeing this insight into his mind was more than thrilling. This was a part of Bruce no one had seen before, a part that he must have never wanted to let Clark know existed. He was a pervert of astronomical levels, and Clark was seeing the extent of that level first hand.

The phrases were searing themselves into his mind. Patterns began to emerge, and Clark cock strained in his pants as he read:

‘Hard fuck, made me scream. 8.’

‘Against the wall. 7.' 

‘Insulted me. Pinned me. 9.' 

'Couldn’t walk afterward. 8.'

‘Threw me onto the bed: time stamp, 14:45. 9.'

As he explored he even found their conversation from yesterday in the kitchen. ‘Sucked ice cream off cock. Pinned me against wall. Insulted me. 8’

He even found footage of him talking to himself in the bedroom from Monday. In fact, there was a lot of footage of him talking to himself in its own little folder and he got red faced the more he contemplated Bruce listening to him when he thought he was alone.

He swallowed. Why was he doing this? Was all this work for Bruce’s own benefit, or was there some form of learning going on here that was for Clark’s sake as well? He didn’t know, but along with the notes on the sex, there were notes on Clark’s own preferences as well. Most notably with. ‘Wear a thong’ and ‘the sluttier the better.’ Maybe this wasn’t as voyaristic as he first thought, maybe this was Bruce taking sex and all its attributes to an oddly clinical and obsessive level. 

All he did know was his cock was this close to bursting out of his pants. He sat back as he tried to think of what to do. He wanted to keep exploring the files, the inquisitive part of himself wishing to see how deep Bruce’s strange hobby went, whilst the other part wanted to hunt down said man and shove his cock down his throat and watch him choke. That would make for a hell of a video. Clark could already see the note that would go with it: ‘Choked on cock. Nearly died. 10.’

But what to do with this? He looked at the book, and made a note of the code and shoved it into his pocket before slipping the book back into its drawer and closing it. Once it was back in the desk, even with Clark’s enhanced vision, he could hardly make out the seam around the edge that showed there was even a drawer there. It made him wonder if there were any other spots in the house with hidden mysteries, and it was either that or the fact he was going to go fuck Bruce that made his erection throb. Maybe both. 

He logged off, and left the room, and without any thought that what he was doing was a terrible idea, he flew to Wayne Tech, landing on the roof and making his way to Bruce’s office. 

There was no assistant sat out front to Clark's surprise, then again it made his life easier so he didn't question it. 

He didn’t bother knocking, and when he saw Bruce wasn’t sat at his desk, he opened the door to the ensuite.

Mid piss, Bruce’s head whirled on him, but otherwise only let out a breath as he continued. “Jesus. Did your mother never teach you how to knock?” After he had finished and washed his hands, he approached Clark at the door. “Why are you here?”  
  


“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you wont be able to walk for a week.” 

The breath Bruce let out was similar to one Clark had heard an asthmatic girl who was in his class in seventh grade make after she tried to run a mile; it was all trapped air, and blocked esophagus, but just as quickly as he made it, Bruce was clearing his throat, looking away from him. “Having your one, I take it?”

  
Clark nodded. “I am.” He pressed in close. “And if you beg, I _ might _ let you cum too.”

Oh, to have Bruce’s face in that moment permanently captured for him to see over and over-

_ Wait _, he frowned. 

The irony of that thought was not lost on Clark.

“I-” Bruce began, bringing his hand up to Clark’s chest. “Please, Clark.”

  
Clark shook his head with a laugh. “Oh, you are gonna have to beg a _ lot _ harder than that if you even want me to touch you, you _ slut _.” 

Hearing Bruce’s heart hammering like this from his voice alone was doing wonders for Clark’s ego. He made his way over to Bruce's desk, pulling the chair out and sitting in it. He lifted his feet, and lay them on the desk. “Come on. On the floor. Beg.” He clapped his hands together.

Bruce’s bit his lips, and Clark could see the anger there mixing with what Clark knew was arousal. He was happy he was getting what he wanted, but he was pissed it wasn’t on his terms. Ever the control freak, even Bruce liked to be in control of just how he was controlled. 

Or maybe it was because deep down he knew Clark was toying with him just as he had been doing all week. After all, Clark was still on the fence about whether Bruce would get off today and he had a feeling Bruce was well aware of that. Was perhaps even anticipating it. 

Slowly, Bruce lowered himself down onto his knees, and crawled over to him. Once by his side, he sat back, peering up at Clark through his lashes. “Please fuck me, Clark. I need it.”

  
  
“And why do you need it?” He asked, crossing his arms, the grin on his face growing by the minute. 

“Because you were right.” He said looking down. “I need you to fuck me, it's not the same without you.”

"Because you are…?" Clark said rolling his wrist towards Bruce.

He looked away and muttered the words under his breath and despite hearing them perfectly, Clark wanted to hear then again, louder.

"I didn't quite catch that." Clark said.

"I'm a slut." Bruce said, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. His pants were tenting and Clark could already see the dampness by the tip. 

"Exactly." Clark said with a nod. "You are a filthy slut who can only get off when I fuck you, right?" 

Bruce nodded.

"And every toy you own is _ nothing _ compared to my cock in you, right?"

Another nod. 

Clark could go on, something about seeing Bruce’s flushed face looking up at him so sweetly as he degraded him like this, urged him to keep going. He couldn’t however deny how alluring the prospect of finally getting to fuck him was.

Like a starving man seeing a three course meal before him. It lured him, taunted him, until nothing other than that though consumed his mind. In that moment, there was nothing else there other than Bruce's sweet face and the even sweeter noises Clark knew he would make. 

"Take your clothes off." Clark said, surprising himself as he said it. It came out like a thought. Sudden and unbidden. A part of him even wondered if he even said anything.

He must have done, as Bruce slowly stood up and began the task of taking off his suit. He was careful, taking his time in making sure nothing was left wrinkled or in disarray as he lay them on the side of the desk. Clark almost commended him on it. Even now, in this state, Bruce exerted control as if he were the one in charge here and Clark was nothing more than the figure head of the whole operation.

Once he reached his underwear the first sign that Bruce was struggling managed to make itself known through the thick layers that comprised Bruce's self control. His hands hesitated at the waist band, his thumb quivering under the elastic as though debating lowering it. Why? Clark wanted to ask. It wasn't as if the material hid anything Clark hadn't seen before. 

It was only when he did lower them and Clark turned Bruce to see his ass that the reluctance made sense. 

"What have we here?" Clark said with a playful smile. "You going to church again, Bruce?" He asked, his finger going to the toy between his cheeks and pushing it further in. 

Bruce braced himself on the desk and Clark could hear the wood shifting as his fingers gripped it. "I was hoping-" he said cutting off with a moan when Clark pulled the toy out slightly before sliding it back in. 

"Hoping?" Clark asked conversationally, idly pushing and pulling the toy to and fro. "For what? For me to come fuck you?"

Bruce's arms were slowly giving up on him, as he lowered himself more and more down onto the desk, bending over until all Clark could see was the damp skin of his back, and his hole clenching around the toy. Clark wanted to pull it out and throw it, only to watch the muscle twitch and quiver at the sudden loss. 

Bruce only nodded at Clark's question and Clark thought that wasn't good enough. So he acted on his impulses. He plucked the toy and threw it across the room.

The sight of Bruce's asshole spasming as it tried to find any friction despite the lack of anything inside was a sight to behold, but was nothing compared to the sound Bruce made along with it. The whine; full of desperation. He tried to turn to Clark, a plea ready on his lips, but Clark smacked him on the ass for even attempting to talk back. 

The moan Bruce made was one Clark hadn't heard in a very long time. It was just like the one in the video. That same surprised hitch of breath combined with a throaty groan. Now Clark definitely didn't know why he didn't spank him more last time, because all that went through his mind this time was how he wanted to keep going until Bruce's cheeks were red raw. 

So that’s what he did.

If Bruce was going to act like a petulant asshole about this week, it stood to reason he should be treated as one. It was only a taste of the misery he put Clark through, but it was enough of a punishment for Clark to feel better about letting Bruce get his 'treat' at the end of it all.

There was also the fact he knew Bruce was loving every moment of it. Clark could see it clear as day, from his body, to the pulses in his synapses, the wanton cries as Clark's hand made contact. It all came together and painted a beautiful picture that Clark couldn’t seem to get enough of even as he sat and took it all in.

Then he stopped. The distraction Bruce provided him with meant Clark barely registered just how hard he was, nor how close he was to finishing any moment in his pants. He needed to get a move on, before it was beyond his control, and thankfully Bruce was already wet and ready.

He stood up and unbuckled his pants, letting them fall to the floor before kicking them off. From the sound alone Bruce’s heart hammered harder in his chest, and Clark smiled down at him. "What would you do if I left you like this?"

Bruce's breath hitched, it almost sounded like a sob. The noise only encouraged Clark. "I know for you masturbation isn’t enough, but me? I'm fine with it." He said conversationally, his hand trailing across to Bruce’s ass. "I could finish like this, you know. Just looking at you." He pressed his finger deep into Bruce and watched as he writhed. "Pathetic and desperate."

Bruce turned to him, his eyes wide and glassy. "Please Clark. I need it. I need it so bad. You're right. _ Please _."

Clark however was having far too much fun. "I don’t know. You have been a complete ass this week. Seems only fair you are punished for it." He gripped himself and tried not to go then and there.

Bruce tried to get up but Clark moved his hand from Bruce's ass to the small of his back, holding him down. With a low whine Bruce spoke. "Clark, I am begging you. Please fuck me." 

"See I think you'll be more annoyed if I do. I'm so pent up, Bruce I'd probably only last a couple seconds."

"You can have another." Bruce said so quickly Clark struggled to make it out. 

"Another?" He asked with a growing smile. "Honestly, Bruce. You may as well just give up."

Bruce's muscles strained and if he wasn't so horny he was near immobile, Clark was fairly certain he'd have started swinging. When he turned to Clark again, his face was a tight frown. "No."

"No what?"

"I'm not giving up." He said firmly. "You can have two. I'm letting you have two. That's it."

Clark nodded. “Right, so I can just go right now and save another one for later?” He grinned. “Sounds like a great idea to me, Bruce.” 

Bruce’s head collided with the desk under him, as he let out a frustrated sigh. “_ Clark _ .”   
  


“Okay okay…” Clark said softly. Somehow he knew from the minute he walked in here what he was going to do with Bruce. Sure, he entertained the idea of doing something more out of the box, but he knew he was never going to leave Bruce desperate and needy. Mostly because deep down he was actually a nice person unlike the man whom he happened to love unconditionally. No, he was fairly certain if the situation was reversed Bruce would not hesitate in leaving Clark high and dry. 

He slid in and he was sure that if this were any other on of their many bouts of intercourse, Bruce would have rolled over and laughed his ass off at how quickly Clark finished. He hadn’t even gotten out of the gate before his dick was at the finish line. He didn’t know what did it, maybe it was the knowledge that he could finally let go, and that was all it took for the final bastion of his willpower to fall. He shuddered, a low moan rumbling from his throat as he fell forward and finished in Bruce in the same stroke that he entered.

Bruce didn’t laugh. He did however shift and in doing so Clark became aware of something.

He was still going.

As the ripples of orgasm started to abate, he stood back up, and out of curiosity, he pulled out.

A torrent of cum poured out of Bruce. “Oh my _ God _. What-” He stammered, unsure of what the hell he was supposed to do in this situation. He didn’t even know what the exact situation was. All he could theorize was that his balls had apparently not gotten the memo to stop semen production for the week and as such his dick currently had more than a passing resemblance to a can of silly string, coating Bruce's ass as well as the floor in a continuous stream of cum that showed no signs of stopping.

Bruce sat up on his elbows and turned to face Clark. “Huh.” He remarked calmly. “Interesting.”

Clark however was too focused on his dick to really pay much attention to Bruce or his blaze attitude do the whole unstoppable jizz debacle. “Why won’t it stop coming out?” He cried out as he brought his hands to his hair. “Oh God, I broke my dick. Bruce, what am I going to do? I can’t live like this. What will I tell people? What am I gonna tell Ma?!”

  
  
“Look, it’s stopping you overly dramatic moron.” Bruce said with a roll of the eyes, and sure enough, when Clark looked at it, the stream was lessening considerably, until it was just a light dribble.

  
“What. The _ hell _. Was that?” He said once was sure his dick wasn’t going to start pouring again. The floor was nearly covered with the stuff and Clark felt genuine pity for who ever was going to have to clean up the lake of semen now spreading across the floor.

  
“You came. I however, have not, so if you could take your second allowance for the week, Clark and fuck me with it, that would be great.” Bruce said breezily as he went back to facing away from him, arching his back and bringing his ass up higher.

“My dick erupts with enough semen to drown someone and you act like that's perfectly normal.” Clark huffed.

Bruce sighed and turned back around. “You're an alien, Clark. At this point in our relationship, I really could see you doing nearly anything strange and I would just chalk it up to alien physiology and move on with my life.” He gestured down at Clark’s dick. “Now we can look more into that whole ‘situation’ later, but for now-” he turned back around, jutting his ass up even higher.

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that right?” Clark said, though a small part of him was somewhat happy Bruce wasn't freaking out alongside him. If he had, Clark was sure the embarrassment alone would cause him to definitely reconsider moving himself into the closest hole in the ground and staying there for the rest of his life. 

But he hadn’t. No, Clark could always count on Bruce to diffuse any awkward situation with his all encompassing ability to just not care. 

Clark was worried this incident would have stifled either his or Bruce’s arousal, but looking down at Bruce’s straining cock as well as his own steadily rising back to attention, he realised that was not the case. 

Lubrication was thoroughly handled with the oceanic quantities Clark had produced, and he slid back in with no issue. This time, he didn’t let loose the second he was inside, and Bruce was actually able to begin to enjoy the feeling of Clark inside of him.

He grabbed Bruce's hips and unleashed ever scrap of pent up energy from within himself as he thrust, he hunched over Bruce, finding the skin of his shoulder and biting down just so on the muscle there. Bruce jumped at the contact, groaning as Clark kept his punishing pace up until he could feel Bruce quaking under him, his breath hitched and Clark debated one last time if he should pull out. Leave Bruce teetering on that edge and watch at he realised he hadn’t won.

Then again, he was also very close, and again, the prospect of Kryptonite being hurled at him reared its way back into his mind. 

He reached under Bruce and gripped his cock tightly, pumping him in time with his thrusts. It wasn't long before Bruce let out a scream that any due diligent employee would probably come and investigate. Then again, this was Brucie Wayne’s office and Clark could only assume it was par for the course for an employee here to hear questionable sounds coming from within, and then promptly ignore.

Feeling Bruce clench hard around him was the final push Clark needed before he felt himself joining him. He allowed himself to enjoy this one more, not paying too much mind to the fact even more ungodly amounts of semen were leaving him and making its way into Bruce.

When he eventually did pull out and fall back into the chair, Clark stared at Bruce slumped form on the desk and poked at him to make sure he wasn’t actually dead. The grunt he received told him not to worry, so Clark went about looking at Bruce's ass, as the river of cum proceeded to make its way out and onto the floor as well. 

After staring at Bruce’s asshole for a length of time any other person on the planet would deem as beyond excessive, Clark cleared his throat. “Good?”

  
  
Another grunt.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Clark said with a smile.

Eventually Bruce stood up and stretched. Clark thought he would go to the bathroom to freshen up, then and there, but he didn't. Opting to sit on Clark’s lap and smile at him, 

“Was it the videos that did it?” Bruce asked as he lent forward and kissed the skin on Clark’s neck.

Clark swallowed thickly. He couldn’t mean-

  
“Videos?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from betraying his discomfort.

  
“Yes.” Bruce said huffing. “Don't act coy, the ones I left for you in the webcam application.”

  
  
“The…? Oh!” Clark said a little too brightly, before he quickly toned it down. “Yeah, no. I saw them.” He wasn’t exactly lying. He had in fact seen them. Albeit very briefly, before ignoring them in favour of the far more interesting content of Bruce’s computer. He didn't need to know that, though.

  
“I thought they would.” Bruce said, pulling back with a smirk. “Oh, and before I forget. If you do need your work laptop, just open the disk tray and take the scrambler out.”

  
  
“You-” Clark frowned. “What the hell, Bruce?”

  
  
He shrugged. “I needed to make sure you used my PC, so getting your laptop out of the way seemed like a fairly logical step to take.” With a smile he kissed Clark’s temple. “And it worked, so I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah. You win this round, but we still have two more days left, asshole.” Clark muttered under his breath. Of course Bruce had played him, and yet he was none the wiser to the things Clark had seen.

What he had actually found out today. 

Strangely enough as he sat and watched Bruce as he went to his bathroom to clean himself, all he could focus on was what Bruce was going to write about this escapade. What tidbit he’d focus on and what number he would assign it.

He put his own clothes on. Trying not to grimace as he realised his pants were more than just a tad slathered with semen. He debated waiting for Bruce to come back out before leaving, but realised a very easy method for cleaning up would be to leave it all to Bruce and head home. So that's what he did.

When he got home, he checked his phone. There were 5 missed calls, all from Perry. Even though it was late in the day, he probably should get to work and perhaps even grovel to Perry a little on the phone whilst he was at it. 

Then he realised he was make believe sick anyway, and when the time came and he was to forge the Doctor’s note for this week, he’d make sure to explain away his sudden absence today. Something that would garner sympathy but wouldn’t be extreme enough that Clark would have to answer too many questions once back.

Clark got changed out of his thoroughly wrecked clothes, and showered. As he stood under the hot spray, he felt like a weight was off his shoulders. It was only two more days until he could finally get back to his usual ‘routine’ and it seemed achievable, if not, a complete certainty. 

He debated if he had enough time to go rooting around Bruce’s computer again, but the man himself stepped through the front door as Clark made his way downstairs. “Thanks for leaving me to deal with the great flood, by the way.” 

  
Clark smiled. “Did you have fun?”

  
  
“Oh, it was great.” Bruce said taking off his coat. “I had to get the wet dry vac, and spend an hour on the floor scrubbing but at least my office no longer resembles a spermatophobic’s nightmare.” He walked over to Clark, crossing his arms. “Seriously though, if that is going to be a recurring thing we may need to look into plastic tarps or something.”

Clark made a face. “Well that's just it, that's never happened before. Then again, I've never not you know-” he gestured with his hand. “For this long before.”

  
  
“What about on missions?” 

  
“Alright, let me rephrase.” Clark said, rolling his eyes. “I have never _ not _ jerked off for this long before, whilst also having to deal with getting blue balled repeatedly by the asshole I regrettably love.” 

Bruce nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” He waved his hand languidly as he turned and walked away. “We’ll have to look more into that later, for now, I'm going to go have a bath.” He was half way up the stairs, when he looked back at Clark, his eyes bright with innocence. “You could always join me.”

  
  
Clark however could see through the veil because really Bruce wasn’t even trying that hard to hide the fact he was anything but innocent. He shook his head. “Yeah, no. I’m not letting you start messing with me again so soon.”

  
  
“Can't blame me for trying.” He said with a shrug. “I will win in the end, Clark. You do know that right?” He said over his shoulder as he made the rest of his way upstairs. 

The rest of the evening, Clark debated trying to get back into Bruce study, but eventually he settled on going in tomorrow when Bruce was at work. It ignited something within him, a fire of excitement as the prospect of what he would find reared its way into his mind. He should also at some point think of what he was going to tell Bruce, because trying to hide the fact that he knew he was being spied on required a level of subtly that Clark was not known for.

Ah well, that sounded like a problem for tomorrow's Clark. Right now, he could relish in a day well spent. 

He went to bed, and slept soundly with Bruce beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all enjoying where this is going! I've been having a lot of fun in making this version of Bruce and Clark perverted weirdo's and I hope y'all are vibing with it too.
> 
> I like Bruce and Clark is every way going, and if you've read my other stories you know I like writing them that way too. The Devils!Verse is defo the version of them where I just take any weird idea going and just throw it in XD 
> 
> Anyway, as always thank you all for your support and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time! :D


	6. THURSDAY

After waking and getting ready for the day, it was with surprise that Clark realised something; namely, that he couldn’t wait for Bruce to leave for work.

  
Normally, when it came to their mornings-  _ when vows of abstinence were not on the agenda _ \- Clark would grow anxious at the prospect that his and Bruce’s time would be cut short by something as mundane as work. He’d snatch at those moments where Bruce would try to leave and he'd prevent it with puppy dog pouts and soft kisses. Of course, he’d be late himself, but he was willing to deal with a scolding from Perry if it meant even a few more seconds with Bruce.

Today however, as Clark sat in the kitchen staring at the clock, he willed the hands to move faster. As he stared, he could have sworn the hands weren't even moving anymore, staying in place as though trying to make the last shreds of his sanity leave him. 

Bruce was completely ignorant to his plight, ignoring him with practiced ease as he pottered around the kitchen cleaning.

  
  
Eventually Clark couldn't take it. He looked at his watch and tried to infuse a modicum of surprise into his voice as he spoke. “Whoa, would you look at the time.” He turned to Bruce sharply. “Aren't you going to be late for work?”   


  
Bruce hand stilled over the counter he was wiping down. He frowned as he looked at Clark. “I’m working from home today, I thought I told you.”

  
  
Clark’s stomach dropped, as well as the barely held together mask of disinterest that comprised his face. “No, you didn't mention it.”

“Oh?” Bruce made a face. “Well, I'm mentioning it now.” He said with a shrug, before turning back to the counter.

  
  
Clark stared down at the table, hoping if he did it for long enough an answer would appear on the stained wood. He knew he should spend the day doing some actual work, but all he could think about was the contents of Bruce’s computer. He wanted to see it all again, he wanted to see what else it had to offer, and most importantly, he really wanted to know what Bruce had written about yesterday, and as it stood, with the man himself choosing to remain home for the day, that particular idea had to be shelved for now. 

Of course he could wait until tomorrow, or until Bruce was away from the Manor for a decent amount of time, and yet even with that minor consolation it didn’t make him feel any better in the face of this particular setback. He lent onto the table and brought his hands to his face, burrowing into his palms. The day had barely begun and he was already done with it.

Bruce must have noticed his apparent displeasure, and most likely misunderstood it, as he put the cloth down and approached Clark. His hand went to the small of Clark's back and despite the comfort the gesture should have provided, Clark startled upright at the touch. “Don't worry. I won’t ‘bother’ you whilst you’re working.” He said with a roll of the eyes. “I'm going to be down in the cave for most of the morning anyway, the Batmobile was making some strange noises last night, so i’m going to take a look at it.”

“Oh?” Clark said far too brightly. Bruce didn’t comment on his thinly veiled joy and instead went back to the counter, and continued wiping. 

A thought entered Clark’s mind as he looked at his work laptop. He chanced a look at Bruce, and ignored how his hands were growing clammier by the minute. “This is just an idea…” He began, swallowing thickly. “If you’re gonna be down in the cave, can I use your office to work in?” Despite knowing those words were enough, seeing Bruce turn and regard him caused Clark to be unable to control his mouth and as such more words came forth. “I mean, the kitchen is okay, but I think i'll be able to concentrate better at a desk, you know?” He was unable to maintain eye contact as he spoke. 

  
“Sounds like a good idea.” Bruce said with a nod as he took off his apron and hung it on its hook. As he started to make his way out of the room, he paused at the door and looked back. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  
  
“Aye aye!” Clark said with a thumbs up before looking at his hand like he betrayed him. When did he ever do a thumbs up? For that matter, when did he ever say ‘aye aye?’ What the fuck was wrong with him? 

He let the feeling of self loathing consume him completely as he waited for Bruce to finish his journey down to the cave. Once he saw him pop the hood of the Batmobile, he made his way to the study. He tried not to let his giddiness overwhelm him, yet it must have done, if the way he practically skipped to the office was anything to go by. He brought his work laptop with him, but as he already planned to write Perry about his ‘illness’ tomorrow, he didn't actually plan on using it.

  
When he opened the door to the study, he expected it to be different somehow. It wasn't. It was the same as yesterday in every quantifiable way and when he approached the desk, he peaked at the drawer that he now knew was there and saw the notebook in the exact same place he had left it in.

He contemplated trying to open it, even going as far as to crouch under the desk to get a better look at it. One nearly toppled pen holder and a bump on his head later, he stood back up and heaved a sigh. Knowing Bruce, it probably had a mechanism tied to some sort of secret lever, or Hell, only opened when touched by him. The possibilities were endless, so rather than dwell on them, Clark instead reached into his pocket for the piece of paper he had written the passcode on yesterday and typed out what was written there, before turning his attention to the screen.

He decided to start at the folder he had found yesterday; where the other clips had been. As he searched through the file, combing through the vast quantities of videos, it was with a growing frustration that he realised he couldn’t find the one he was after. He fell back in the chair and tried to think.

Of course, the logical answer was that Bruce didn't have a camera at his work office. That thought hit Clark like a truck the moment it entered his mind and almost immediately he tried to think of alternative reasons for the lack of footage that didn't leave him feeling so discouraged. Maybe it hadn’t been uploaded yet? Maybe Bruce kept that particular file elsewhere? He kept looking. 

Being as focused on the task at hand as he was, and being that Bruce was known for his quiet feet and even quieter presence, Clark didn't hear him leave the cave, didn’t hear him approach, and didn’t even hear him at the door until he poked his head in. “Knock knock.” 

Clark shot up in the chair, and stared wide-eyed at Bruce. “Hey.” He said sharply, hoping the panic on his face came across more as surprise than anything else. “I thought you were-” 

  
  
“Yes, I got started then realised I wanted some coffee and figured i’d ask you if you want one too.” Bruce stepped fully into the office, and as subtly as he could manage Clark brought his hands back to the mouse and started clicking out of all the open folders.

  
“Coffee sounds nice.” Clark said, eyes still wide. “Thanks, Bruce.” 

Bruce gave a nod and then left. As soon as he was gone, Clark fell back and let out a breath. His heart hammered in his chest and the idea of attempting to do that again, made his entire back begin to dampen with sweat. It was too much; the pressure, the fear of getting caught. He could try again tonight. Or tomorrow. Or Hell, any other day. Just not whilst Bruce was in the house and likely to drop by unannounced again.

He logged off of the computer and when Bruce reappeared holding a coffee mug, he got up and walked to him, taking it from his hands. “Thanks.”

  
  
“You’re welcome.” Bruce said easily, gesturing to the desk. “How’s work going?”

  
  
“Great, just answered a few emails.” Clark said, bringing the coffee cup to his lips and hiding his clenched jaw behind it. “You, uh, going back down stairs now, or?”

Bruce lent on the door way languidly, at complete odds with Clark’s downright hostile posture. “In a minute, I just wanted to talk." 

“Right.” Clark said, blinking. Was he blinking too much? How much was one meant to blink? He stopped blinking entirely. 

“Yeah, I was going to say-” but Bruce wasn't paying attention to him, his eyes going to something on the floor. “What's that?”

He stepped past Clark and before Clark had the chance to see what he was talking about, he was already bending over to pick it up. 

Clark felt his heart nearly jump out of his throat when he saw what it was.

It was his note.

“Oh no.”    


  
Bruce’s eyes blew wide, his eyes running across the piece of paper. “How-”

  
  
Clark tried and failed to come up with an explanation. “I-”

  
  
“Did you-” he turned to Clark, eyes wide. “You didn't…. Did you?” He marched towards Clark, grabbing his shoulders. “Did you?”

  
  
“Did I what?” Clark said, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. He even took a sip of his coffee to show how calm and collected he was. He ignored how his quivering lip caused some of the liquid to dribble down his chin.

  
  
Bruce’s face fell. “You did.”

  
  
“I don't know what you’re talking about.” 

Bruce swayed slightly, and Clark was certain if he hadn't been holding onto him, he'd have fallen to the floor. "You did. You saw it." He said, devoid of all emotion. 

Clark pressed his lips together. "I may have seen something, yes."

Bruce gave one nod, then another. He seemed lost in the motion, his head continuing to nod as he walked away from Clark to his chair, he slumped in his seat, then fell forward into his hands and let out a long and low groan. 

"Bruce.” Clark said, setting his coffee down on one of the many shelves lining Bruce's wall. “It’s not that big of a deal. Well, I mean, it sort of is…But, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not mad?"

Bruce looked up at him. "How much did you see, exactly?"

Clark narrowed his eyes slightly. "How much was there for me to see?"

Bruce’s eyes narrowed in return. "I asked first."

"Considering I'm the one being filmed here, I think I have priority." Clark said bluntly as he set his hands on his hips. "I- Oh."

Bruce’s expression could no longer be deemed as one Clark had ever seen before. It was fear, panic, concern and embarrassment. It was traits he knew Bruce fundamentally had within him, but the man himself was always so keen on concealing, it was a lot for Clark to see them all there, clear as day, and he stepped back as though the look itself had a physical presence. Before he could say anything else, Bruce fell forward, back into his open hands.

Clark stood there for a while, before gingerly approaching Bruce and crouching by his side. "I meant it when I said I wasn't angry. I'm just-" What was he? He’d need to figure that out at some point. "Confused?" He settled on. 

Bruce remained hidden in his hands but he shifted a little to allow for a whisper to come out. "I’m sorry."

Clark huffed a breath, trying for a smile as he leaned closer. He rested his hand on Bruce’s thigh. "I'd be more inclined to accept your apology if you just explained it all to me."

"I can’t." He said back. 

"Why?"

"Because if I do, you will leave me."

"Bruce." He said firmly, and when he didn't respond, he tapped him. "Look at me." It took a bit more coercion, in the form of more taps and shoves, but eventually Bruce pulled back, his eyes meeting Clark’s. "I mean it when I say I'm not angry. I just want to know why, and I can promise you, I won’t leave you when you tell me."

Bruce nodded and his time, it was only once. Firm and resolute. He then turned to Clark, jaw set. "I love you.”

  
  
“I love you, too.'' Clark said, jostling his knee and sending him a warm smile.

  
  
“No, that was the reason why I do this.” He clasped his hands together and eyed Clark. “I love you.”

Clark furrowed his brows. “I don't…”

  
  
“Okay, let me rephrase. I love you so much that I have this compulsion where I have to know and catalogue every minute detail about you and the idea of not doing so makes me feel like my skin doesn't fit my body.”

  
“That, uh.” Clark cleared his throat, his cheeks growing red. “That sounds an awful lot like an obsession to me, Bruce.” He said, unable to prevent the nervous chuckle as he spoke.

  
“That's because it is.” Bruce said with such a blank look on his face that Clark knew there was no way he was lying. 

  
“Please, you-”

  
  
“Oh, do you need more proof?” Bruce shot up from his seat. “Clark from the moment I met you I have catalogued every piece of information I could find about you-” He went to one of the shelves lining the room and reached for one of the folders on it. He pulled it out, throwing it to the ground so hard it broke. Paper spilled out from within, covering the floor in a blanket of white. “-I know your blood type, I know the grades you got in high school, I know how many times you use the restroom in a day, I even have transcripts of the conversations you’ve had with alien delegations, and  _ why  _ do I know all these things?” He turned to Clark, eyes wide. “Because I'm  _ insane _ .” 

Clark made a face he hoped was reassuring, but really was just one of general concern. “Bruce, you're not insane.”    
  


“No, I am.” He reached for another folder, throwing it to the ground as well. “I have accepted this part of myself many years ago, Clark, but I was  _ very _ determined to make sure you never found out about it, but then you had to find out anyway!”

“Um.” Clark looked at all the paper now around him, and reached for one. Sure enough, when he looked at it, it showed his English grades from freshman year. “Sorry?”   


  
Bruce threw an accusatory finger at him. “You're damn right you’re sorry. If we had it my way, we would have reached eighty before any of this came out.” 

“Well, I’m glad I found out!” Clark snapped as he stood up to meet Bruce head on. “This is important, Bruce! You film me, you keep videos of us having sex and-” He looked around the room. “To what end? What do you  _ do _ with it all?”

  
  
“Have it.” Bruce said, with a look on his face that let Clark know he was very well aware that what he was saying was not definitely not sane. “I just-” he looked around at all the paper. “I just… Have it.” 

  
  
“But  _ why _ ?” Clark asked, his brows furrowing.

  
  
Bruce let out a low sigh before looking up to meet Clark's gaze. “Do you remember when I told you about the Gray Ghost?”

Taken aback by the question, Clark thought for a moment. “That old TV show you have a shrine for upstairs?” Clark said, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, what has that-”

  
  
“ _ Think _ , if I have a shine- a whole  _ room _ \- dedicated to an old TV show, what do you think I would do for a person who, by every definition of the word, is my soulmate?” Bruce’s hands clenched into fists by his side. “Why, I would collect everything I could about them, I would make sure there was no one else on the entire planet who knew them like I do. I would hoard every last scrap of information about them like it were precious and I would keep it all safely stored here.” Bruce stared at him, his eyes wide and glassy. “I know what I have done is inexcusable, I know I betrayed your trust, I know you have every right to leave me and never speak to me again, but-” He cut himself off as he looked down at the floor, at all the paper scattered around him. 

  
  
Clark too stared at the floor, only to then turn his attention to the computer. As he looked at the screen, one thing and one thing only, occupied his mind. “Where's what you wrote about yesterday?” Clark asked quietly. 

  
“Huh?” Bruce asked, his composure faltering and showing the flustered expression underneath. “I don't-”

“You write about it.” Clark said quietly. “You don't just store this stuff; you examine it, you learn from it, you  _ write _ about it.” He stepped over the paper on the floor and stood right before Bruce, leaning in close and letting his voice come out as a breathy murmur. “So i’ll ask again, where is what you wrote about yesterday?” 

Bruce swallowed, his eyes darting between Clark and the floor. “I-” He squirmed where he stood. “I haven't written it yet.” 

“Write it.” Clark said, stepping over to the desk and pulling the chair out. “I want you to write it.” Bruce didn’t move. Clark sat down at the chair, watching him. He quirked his head to the side. “Well?”

  
  
Bruce moved towards him with what looked like a monumental effort. When he was by the desk, with Clark sitting in the chair, he remained standing, reaching across him for the keyboard. Clark however was going to allow that, he took Bruce by the hips and brought him down onto his lap. Bruce tensed from the contact, as though waiting to see if Clark would do anything else. When he didn't, he typed in his password and sat back as it he waited for it to load. 

Clark tried to ignore his steadily growing erection, but with Bruce being sat directly on top of it, it was made a whole lot more difficult. He instead tried to focus on the screen, and watched as Bruce navigated the labyrinth of files before he was confronted with something Clark hadn’t seen before. It was a folder filled with files, but they weren’t videos. They were documents. “What is this?” He asked.

  
  
“This is where I write everything, I thought that’s what you meant?” Bruce said quietly.

  
“No, I meant the videos- you write notes about them. Number them and stuff.”

  
  
“Number them?” Bruce quirked a brow. “I- oh!” He said as realisation hit him. He clicked off that screen and then with a few more clicks he was back at the folders Clark knew, he right clicked on a one and Clark saw the little note pop up next to it. “You mean these ones?”

  
  
“Yeah.” He muttered, wrapping his arms around Bruce, and grinding his hips ever so slightly against him. “Those ones.”

“These aren't my notes.” Bruce said. “This is my…” he cleared his throat. “Self ‘pleasure’ folder.” Even Bruce grimaced at his choice of words.

  
  
Clark huffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Really?” 

Bruce clicked on some other things and pulled up another folder with video files. “These are the raw video files as I retrieve them from the cameras. I then go through and edit them down, and categorize them by location, date, etc. The notes that go with them are so I know what all the clips feature. It makes the selection process easier.”

  
  
“And the numbers?”

“Ratings.” Bruce said absently before he made a face. “Not that I think any of it is bad, per say, it's just-” He gave a squirrely shrug. “I like different numbers on different days.” 

“Which is your favourite?” Clark asked, his erection now rubbing very obviously underneath Bruce.

  
  
“I-” Bruce swallowed. “I don't really-”

  
  
“Yeah you do.” Clark murmured, kissing Bruce lightly on his neck.. “One of the videos… You gave it a ten.” He trailed his hands till they reached Bruce's flanks. He gripped him hard. “The one where I  _ spanked  _ you.”

  
  
Bruce, whether he was aware of it or not, began rubbing back up against Clark’s erection. “I-” He let out a low breath. “I watch that one a lot.”

“Yeah?” Clark brought his hands higher, running his hands across Bruce's stomach until he reached his nipples. Through the shirt he gripped them tightly, and groaned as Bruce bucked against him. 

  
“Fuck, Clark.” Bruce arched up, jutting his chest out towards Clark’s hands, urging him to pull harder. “Please, please-”

  
  
“In a second.” Clark said, trying to keep a level head as he knew it was slowly filling with thoughts of Bruce and a very red and raw asshole. He bit his lips and let out a breath. “See, I found something else when I had a little look around your ‘file’. You gave one of them a three.” 

Bruce stilled. “I-”

  
  
“A three, Bruce?” Clark murmured into his ear, twisting his nipple until it was just on the verge of being too painful. “How  _ dare _ you.” 

A choked breath was all that left Bruce as he began shaking his head so hard his whole body writhed with it. “You have the audacity to sit here and rate me, well, maybe I should do the same to you.” He let go of Bruce and pushed him over the desk. With a low groan, he bumped hard against the wooden surface, sending half of the surfaces contents onto the floor. 

  
He reached for his own erection, but just as his hand grazed the zipper, he stilled. 

He wasn’t allowed to cum. 

Not yet. 

Not until tomorrow.

He took a breath. 

He instead reached for Bruce’s pants. He wasn’t wearing a belt today, so Clark reached around to his front and unzipped him, pulling his pants down until they were at his ankles. He then reached for his underwear, and unlike yesterday, there was nothing hidden behind them. “No toy today?” Clark asked playfully, bringing his finger to Bruce’s asshole and pressing it in.

Bruce pushed up against him, but Clark pulled his hand away before slapping it on his ass cheek. Bruce gasped at the impact and jutted his ass further towards Clark. “I should spank you for being a disgusting little pervert.” Clark said softly as he trailed his hand across the skin of Bruce’s ass. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You dirty slut. You  _ want _ me to spank you and fuck your hole until you can’t even sit without thinking of my dick in you.” He heard a noise then, and when Clark chanced a look down he saw it was a bead of precum dripping from Bruce, hitting the floor. He couldn't help but grin. “No, I think a better punishment would be leaving you to deal with this-” he reached for Bruce’s cock and gripped it hard in his hand. “-yourself. Watch some videos from your ‘self pleasure’ folder like the pervert you are, and fuck yourself as you think of how it’s  _ nothing  _ compared to me.”

“Oh, God.” Bruce ground out. “Please, Clark,  _ please _ -”

  
  
“You keep begging, and whilst I do love the sound of it, Bruce, i’m not buying it.” Clark loosened his grip but kept his hand around him, and almost immediately Bruce began moving his hips back and forth into Clark’s hand. “You think you can just film me and give me a three and think i’ll forgive you if you beg hard enough?” 

“I-” but Bruce stopped speaking. Clark could see the way his hand clenched and unclenched as tension ran rife through his body. “I’m sorry, please, I mean it-  _ Please _ .”

He knew Bruce was close, could see it in the way his body shuddered, how his brain was alive with sharp pulses across his synapses, he brought his other hand to his hole and trailed around the edge of it, he didn't know how successful it would be, but he wanted to try something, and if he failed, there was always next time.

He reached for one of the few things on the desk that was still on there and not currently on the floor. A humble pen holder. Clark looked at the contents, shaking it slightly and knowing Bruce would turn and look at the sound. He did, and almost immediately a look of confusion appeared on his face before slow realisation began to take over. He opened his mouth, but Clark was already reaching for a pen and putting it in his mouth, running his tongue up and down the plastic.

  
  
Then, with a wet pop, he pulled the pen out, and shoved it into Bruce.

Bruce’s breath hitched at the intrusion, gripping the desk as he clenched hard around the pen.

But Clark wasn’t done.

He had a whole pot full of pens. 

He picked up another one, and after running his tongue along it, he pushed it into Bruce to join the other. He then grabbed both pens, and pulled them halfway out for a second, only to push them back in. Bruce groaned as he looked back at him, his eyes flicking to the pot in his hand. Clark couldn’t help but grin at the worried look on his face.

There were still a lot more pens.

14 to be exact. There were still a few more in the pot, but as Clark reached for the 15th, he let it fall back in. Bruce’s hole already looked far more stretched than Clark had ever seen it and he didn't want to push him too far. He trailed a finger along the straining muscle, and more incoherent gibberish fell from Bruce's mouth as a result.

He’d stopped being able to talk 8 pens in.

He sat back in the chair, taking in the image that was Bruce- sweaty and stretched wide- pushed to the edge with nothing more than humble stationary. Clark tried to suppress his smile, but he still had the final part of his plan to execute.

He reached for the mass of pens, gripping it fully and thrusting it back and forth as gently as he could manage so as to not cause Bruce any actual harm. With his other hand he reached for his cock, and finger by finger, wrapped his hand around Bruce. He ran his hand up and down him, and as the seconds ticked by he pumped him harder and faster relishing in the series of cries leaving Bruce as he did.

Then, just as Clark saw the tell tale hint of an orgasm start to fire of in Bruce's mind-

He let go.

Bruce, at the loss of contact, practically screamed. His body convulsed as it tried in vain to find anything to push it that millimeter it needed to climax. Clark sat back and watched him, saw the way his dick remained hard and flushed, a drop of cum leaving him, as though it were right there, ready and waiting to come out, but couldn’t without the brush of Clark’s hand. 

After a minute that Clark presumed consisted mostly of Bruce trying to collect what he could of his composure, he sat up on his elbows and turned to Clark, his cheeks damps with either sweat or tears, Clark didn't know. “Oh, I'm sorry.” Clark said with a laugh. “Had you not cum yet? I didn’t realise.” To add insult to injury, he reached for the pens and pulled them out roughly, letting them tumble to the flood with a clatter.

  
  
Bruce growled as he pounced at him, but Clark avoided him easily, moving out of the seat in the blink of an eye. “I told you I was going to punish you, Bruce.” Clark said, quirking his head. “You really think I was going to give you what you want? Again?” He shook his head. “Not this time. No, I think you know what your punishment is.” Clark looked pointedly at the computer. 

Bruce watched him, his anger palpable, but eventually he sat down on the chair, his well practiced glare coming back to him as he reached for the mouse and began clicking. 

  
  
Clark watched as Bruce pressed play on one of the clips and reached for his erection. He hissed at the contact, and Clark tried not to listen to the little voice in his head that told him to forget the bet, and do the same. Or you know, just give Bruce what he wanted- which, really, Clark also wanted. Very much so.

But it was only till tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow and he’d be able to fuck Bruce and relish in the knowledge that he could do it again, and again, and again if he wanted to. 

The clip Bruce had picked was not the ten Clark had somewhat expected he’d choose, it was a from a few months ago if Clark’s memory was correct. As he watched it, the evening came back to him. That particularly time, Clark held Bruce from behind by the elbows, holding him up as he fucked him.

Bruce however was not responding quiet like he had been with Clark, he was grunting quietly, but after a few minutes of supposed ‘self pleasure’, he brought his other hand to his ass and pushed a finger in. He kept going, his hands moving faster, until he stopped suddenly, with nothing more than a sharp exhale. His hand darted out and he quickly clicked onto another video, one in which they were in the shower, and again, Bruce brought his hand back to his cock and continued. 

Clark kept watching, keeping an eye trained on Bruce, and then with nothing more than a whimper, he came. It wasn’t big, or climactic, if anything it was almost pathetic, with no other sound leaving Bruce’s lips than a long exhale after it was done. Clark laughed. "Wow. That was a three if I ever saw one. Hell, I feel like even that is being generous.

Bruce fell back in his seat. “Fuck you.” He muttered. 

  
“Rude.” Clark said smugly, crossing his arms. “I could have done a lot worse, you know. I could  _ still _ do a lot worse...” 

He knew Bruce wanted to retort, but whether it was the idea of Clark’s threat becoming a reality, he didn't. He instead got up and with sharper movements than Bruce usually had after a good fuck, he reached for his pants, and began pulling them back on brusquely. “That bad, huh?” Clark said with a smirk.

  
Bruce whirled on him. “ _ Fuck you _ .” He spat out and despite the amount of venom in his voice, Clark felt untouchable at that moment. 

“Maybe this will teach you to stop being a little shit.” Clark said quirking a brow. “You keep fucking with me enough Bruce, I’m gonna start fucking with you right back.” 

Bruce’s heart hammered in his chest as he turned from him, marching his way across the room and out the door without another word. Once he was gone, Clark let out a bright laugh as he sat down at the desk, his eyes briefly going to the monitor before him.

So he hadn’t seen what Bruce thought about yesterday, there was time for that. If Bruce was as obsessive about this whole ‘collection’ thing as he had shown, it was only a matter of time before yesterday was added to the folder. He contemplated going back on the computer and rifling through the new files he now knew were there, but one look at the damp patch on his pants told him he had a more pressing issue to deal with.

As he stood under the ice cold water of the shower, his smile stayed with him. He couldn't help the pride he felt. He was _finally_ in charge of this shit show. 

At least, that’s what he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter didn't start with the intention of Bruce getting stationary up the ass, but we are where we are. 
> 
> Anyway! We are nearly at the finish line y'all! Just one more chapter to go! As always, I hope you all enjoyed <3


	7. FRIDAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! I only hope it lives up to all of your expectations. :> 
> 
> I do want to warn everyone that there is mention of blood in this chapter, specifically caused by sex. With that said, I hope you all enjoy.

Never in all of his life, had Clark been so rapturously awoken by morning wood.

If there was anything to be said about this week, aside from the painfully obvious, it was that he was gaining an Pavlovian response to seeing his own erection.

  
  
Namely, the urge to get rid of it as quickly as possible, barring the far more pleasurable ways of doing so.

  
  
As he lay in bed on this particular morning however, he looked down at the tent in the sheet and smiled, for one quick glance over at his bedside clock showed the word FRIDAY calling out to him from the screen, letting him know in those six letters that his week of torture was finally over.

  
Bruce was still asleep, having gotten in late last night and was completely oblivious to Clark’s joy. The desire to wake him and have him join the merriment, was there in Clark’s mind, but was soon overwhelmed completely by the urge to do the _ one _ thing that had been off limits for the entire week instead.

  
He slid from the bed and made his way to the bathroom, a skip in his step as he did. He was practically shaking with a weeks worth of pent up energy as he eased off his underwear, and if he were able to, he was sure he’d have drawn blood with how hard he was biting his lip from that alone.

As soon as the water was on, covering him in a misty veil of vapour, he looked down at his straining cock, and brought his hand around it with something so far beyond relief that it was a brand new emotion altogether. 

The noise he made was barely human, it was so loud in fact that he knew the second he made it that he’d woken Bruce. He didn’t care, as an interrupted sleep cycle was a small price to pay for Clark’s torment, and rather than pity him, Clark instead focused his eyes to the insignificant imperfection in the titled wall before him.

He stared hard at the grouting of the tiles, and hidden in the corner, in and amongst the stones Clark could see the small camera, training its unblinking eye back at him. He grinned at the lense, and with the hand currently not wrapped around himself he gave it a wave. 

Having gotten that out of the way, he went back to the more pressing task currently sticking out from between his legs. He looked down at himself, and as his left hand began to stroke his shaft, he brought his other to squeeze his balls. 

As he squeezed, it was as though electricity stuck him and pushed him the nanometer he needed to reach the edge. He could feel his orgasm blossoming, deep inside his core, before it spilled forth in the form of an exceedingly loud moan and a torrent of semen now pulsing from his dick, the amount of which put his previous orgasm to shame.

At least he was in the shower already. That was a small plus. A more pressing negative however, was the fact that the Manor’s drains were built for the express purpose of channeling water away, and not the frankly overwhelming quantity of alien cum now pooling over Clark’s feet. He left the water running for a while longer as he stood under the spray, and after some coaxing, in the form of pressing his foot onto the grate with more than a slight grimace, it started to go down, sort of.

Oh well, he shrugged. That was a problem for Bruce to deal with. Speaking of, Clark looked back towards the bed and saw said man now sat up against the pillows, flicking through his phone idly. 

Clark got out of the shower cubicle, and felt joy rather than annoyance as his erection came back to life with little more than a rub of the towel against his skin. After all, it was Friday, and Bruce was now awake. The possibilities were endless.

He stepped out, his cock proudly on display for Bruce to feast his gaze upon, though the man in question barely looked up from his phone to acknowledge it, his attention still on his phone. “So you masturbated in the shower?” He said.

“Yup.” Clark said with a grin, stepping towards the bed, and pushing his hips out just a little as he did, hoping the movement would lure Bruce’s gaze to him. It worked, though the look he received was less unbridled arousal and was frankly just boredom. “But don't worry Bruce, i’m still good to go on my promise to fuck you raw.” He stopped by the edge of the bed, bringing his knee up and setting it there. When Bruce didn’t so much as blink, he rolled his eyes. “Are you still pissed about yesterday?”

“Pissed?” Bruce asked, his eyebrows going up as he looked at Clark, tilting his head. “Why would I be pissed when I've won?” 

“What?” Clark asked, his eyes going back to the clock and only leaving when he reread the date on it. “What are you talking about, it's Friday. _ I _ won.”

  
  
Bruce frowned. “I think you'll find you made your promise closer to 11:03pm last Friday, not 9:32am.” Bruce looked at the clock pointedly. “Which means you lost by, let's be generous and say 14 hours.” He shrugged, going back to his phone. “Which is a commendable effort, I will add. It’s just such a shame you didn't make it the full week.”

  
  
“You’re-” kidding, Clark wanted to say, but no, one look at Bruce as well as his intimate knowledge of the man let him know immediately he was not in fact joking. “But you said-”

  
  
“I said-” Bruce held up his hand, hushing Clark in that simple gesture. “A week. A week is a 168 hours, _ not _ 154.” He let out a sigh, which could have been conveyed as sympathetic, if it weren’t for the fact that Bruce was barely containing his smile. “Nope, there are no two ways about it. You lost.” Then all at once, the grin that was being held at bay was now in full view, taunting Clark with its carefree nature.

“You-” he ground out. He snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes before counting to ten. Though it did nothing to cool his anger, it did help him collect what few words he felt capable of saying in that moment. “You really gonna play like that?”

  
  
“Play like what?” Bruce sat back, his smile bright. “I won Clark. Plain and simple. So stop acting like a _ sore loser _.” 

  
“You did not _ win _ . You are just making up new rules, you didn't _ say _-”

  
  
Bruce again held up his hand, and Clark wanted to slap it away. “I said a week. _ Not _ , until Friday. If I had said that, then _maybe_ I would concede to a draw, but I didn't say that, so.” He shrugged, going back to his phone. “Tough shit.”

Clark stood there for a while, just staring at Bruce as he went back to flicking through his phone. After a while, all he could hear was the sound of Bruce's finger running across the screen. As the seconds ticked by, he was also becoming acutely aware of something else, namely, a rising anger which despite how much he should be trying to quell it, kept growing more and more.

The pressure of the week was finally catching up on him. He’d gone through Hell. Dealt with Bruce being a shit for _ 154 _hours, and didn't even get to have the satisfaction of taking home a win. No, he’d lost, thanks to Bruce's arbitrary ruling and no amount of convincing would ever change his mind and Clark knew that. 

But slowly, Clark came to realise it didn't matter who won or lost. This had just been a game that went too far. It was just something that he and Bruce would look back on and laugh about due to its overall strangeness. He could see it now; ‘remember when I stuck my dick in ice cream?’, ‘Oh, yes, it was almost as hilarious as the time you stuck a dozen pens up my ass.’, ‘Chuckle, guffaw, laughter.’ Yes, this was just another one of their silly games, and tomorrow they’d been laughing about it.

  
So why was he still seething?

Because for all of his rational thinking, Clark couldn't quell the fiery inferno Bruce had ignited within him. No, if anything with each passing moment it grew stronger and stronger, and Clark knew that whatever came out of Bruce's mouth next, would either lead him to slinking off, his tail between his legs or to the bed, with Bruce between them instead.

“Can you move? You’re blocking the light.” Came Bruce's words and Clark almost laughed at the perfectness of them. In fact he did. It bubbled up slowly, coming out as a harsh chuckle that quickly devolved into a fit so intense it had him hunching over.

As he stood up straight, wiping the tears from his eyes, he caught Bruce's concerned stare and could barely contain the grin tugging at his cheeks. “_ Oh, _ Bruce. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to _ breath _ without feeling the empty space i’ve left behind.” He set his hands on the bed, gripping the bed sheets so hard they tore. “And you’re gonna _ let _me.”

Bruce’s eyes blew wide, but before he could say anything else, Clark was on him, reaching for his phone and throwing it against the wall. It shattered on contact, leaving a dent in the plastering that Clark couldn't bring himself to care too much about in that moment. He bore down on Bruce, his eye twitching. “First things first though. Can’t fuck you apart on an empty stomach, can I?” He grabbed his cock and brought it to Bruce’s mouth. “Open wide.” 

Clark was prepared for Bruce to disobey, was perhaps hoping for it in some small recess of his mind, but he didn't. No, he opened his mouth wide and Clark brought the tip of his cock to his lips and began to stroke himself. The barest graze of Bruce’s tongue on his cock, sent Clark over, and with a low moan, the torrent of cum began anew. It all went into Bruce’s waiting mouth, though some did splatter along his jaw and onto the sheets. It was somewhat impressive to watch. Despite the awkward angle, Bruce managed to swallow it all down as it kept pouring out.

  
Eventually, it petered into a small dribble that Bruce lapped at until Clark pulled away. “You drank it all up.” Clark beamed. “Good, ‘cause I figured seven days of Hell equals seven portions. What do you think Bruce?”

  
  
Bruce’s eyes blew wide, but Clark brought his finger to his lips, stopping him from speaking. “It was a rhetorical question, Bruce. I already know the answer, after all.” He cleared his throat, frowning as he did his best to impersonate Bruce’s default ‘look’. “‘Why yes, Clark, use me like the horny cum dumpster I am.’” Clark was already going back to stroking himself. “Good thing I've got plenty stored up for you, Bruce.” 

The look on Bruce’s face alone was enough for the next deluge to spill forth, and after the third, the amounts started to resemble something closer to a normal human’s. They still required multiple swallows and at points Clark pulled back, simply to allow Bruce some much needed oxygen before the next bout began. He was red faced and sweaty by the time the seventh load hit his throat, but aside from the small sigh he gave as Clark sat back, there was no other indication he was phased by it.

He should have known Bruce’s insurmountable stubbornness would taint whatever catharsis this was meant to give. The defiant glint in his eyes as he stared up at Clark was enough for whatever scrap of post orgasmic bliss he had, to leave him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that too easy for you?” Clark moved back, and purposefully squashing Bruce’s erection down against his ass rather forcefully. “You want more? 'Cause I can keep going.”

Bruce only shook his head, fractionally. Clark didn't know what he wanted, but something in his stomach told him that wasn't enough. His eyes narrowed and Bruce's mouth opened. “No, sir.”

  
Clark’s stomach fluttered at the word, and he let out a shaky breath. “Good.” He turned his attention to Bruce's sweat stained shirt, and got up from the bed completely. “Take everything off. Now.”

  
  
He reached down for his underwear and dealt with those first, flinging them off to the side and letting his cock spring free. Then he pulled off his shirt and that too joined the bundle on the floor. Once naked he lay back, bringing his arms up over his head and showing the scar riddled skin of his chest. Clark marveled at the view. “How can someone so beautiful be such a piece of shit?” He muttered under his breath, before climbing back over Bruce. 

He hunched over and started a trail of kisses across his skin, reaching his neck and pressing down firmly where the fluttering beat of his pulse lay. It was going so fast, and despite trying to keep his breath slow as Clark kissed him, there was a near constant hitch in it, that only grew more pronounced the more Clark teased him.

Clark pulled back and in one swift motion, grabbed Bruce by the hip and flipped him over, revealing his pert ass. Clark gave it a smack as he maneuvered himself behind it. With no other prompting, Bruce got up on his knees and pushed his ass up higher to Clark and without much more thought Clark began stroking himself again.

There was lube nearby, somewhere, but Clark wasn't going to forgo his current view to go and find it. He kept stroking himself and as he began to lose himself in the sensation, Bruce looking back at him, a lip wedged between his teeth and before Clark even realised it, his cum splattered up against his hole.

He stuck his finger into him, more as a courtesy than as anything resembling proper preparations. Bruce was slick enough with his cum, and waiting any longer meant depriving himself of the prize he deserved for putting up with this bullshit week.

As he entered, there was resistance. Bruce clenched hard around him with a groan. He debated pulling out and actually getting the lube, but as he pushed further forward he felt Bruce slowly start to relax around the intrusion. He gave him a minute, which was actually closer to 12 seconds before he began thrusting. 

Despite this being the 10th orgasm in as many minutes, Clark barely felt a dent in his libido. He’d known for a while that he was far from normal when it came to his sexual appetites, but seeing just how far it went was somewhat exhilarating and he relished the opportunity to explore it. 

He thrust hard into Bruce, grabbing his hips and holding him steady. It wasn’t much longer until he felt Bruce clench down around him as he came. Clark didn't slow down or ease out, despite the way Bruce began to try and fidget away from Clark’s cock. No, he kept riding through and didn't stop until he filled Bruce up this end of Bruce just as he had done the other. 

He held himself there for a little while longer, catching his breath. When he pulled out of Bruce; he flopped against the bedding in a heap as Clark was no longer there to keep him upright. Clark fell down beside him, feeling a wonderful sense of calm wash over him. They didn't speak, and the only sound in the room was that of their heavy breathing and thumping hearts. 

Eventually Bruce sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. He slid off the bed and stretched his arms up high before standing. Clark noticed his small wince and smiled, it only grew as he watched Bruce walk to the bathroom with a slight limp in his step.

He felt pride, warm and comforting, deep in his core. “So, how would you rate that one?” Clark said, tilting his head. 

Bruce stopped by the bathroom door and Clark couldn't help but grin as he turned back around to face him. He sat there, attention firmly on Bruce as he waited for those words he desperately wanted to hear finally come forth.

“I don't know, probably a seven.” Bruce muttered with a shrug, as he gripped the door handle and pulled it open.

Confusion was the first thing that entered Clark, then humour, as the idea that Bruce was being an asshole ‘as per usual’ came to mind. Slowly however, both of those went out the door as he realised that Bruce was in fact telling the truth and saw Clark’s coup de grace as a fucking seven.

  
“_You_-”

Clark didn't know when he had gotten up from the bed, didn't know when exactly he grabbed Bruce’s arm, or threw him over his shoulder, but he had, and in the span of those fleeting moments Bruce had gone from standing to now being thrown across the room.

From the bathroom door to the bed was a rather lofty distance and in that time he was airborne Bruce flipped over and landed on the bed face down so hard some part of the bed frame gave way if the crack Clark heard was anything to go by. Bruce scrambled to turn back around and face him, but Clark was on him, holding him down into the duvet. Bruce tried to grasp at Clark’s wrist, but he wasn’t budging. 

He slapped Bruce across his ass hard enough to leave an immediate blossom of red. Bruce gasped into the bedding and managed to turn his head a fraction to let the barest gasp of a word escape. “Clark-”  
  


He slapped again, this time across his flanks. As he finished, Clark spread Bruce's legs apart forcefully and reached for the exposed skin of his sac, and gripped it firmly. He let his grip grow tighter and tighter, until he heard Bruce’s garbled moans became more desperate and panicked. “Clark, please-”

“You have really done it this time.” He kept his grip tight on Bruce, going as far as to begin tugging his sac. “You piece of shit. _ Seven _ ? I’ll show you fucking _ seven _.” 

He let go and spun himself around. He dug his fingers into Bruce's hips and lifted him up, against his cock. Whatever was left of his cum had begun to dry and Clark felt the warmth of friction run along his cock with a gentle burn. He groaned and using one hand, reached for Bruce's shoulder, pulling his upright against him as he thrust. “I can’t fucking stand you, you-” 

But Bruce's moans cut him off and had his head not been overwhelmed with arousal, he might have punished him further, instead he bit on the delicate skin of his neck as he rode harder still.

His hands kept on traveling, finding portions of Bruce's body that at that moment had yet to be blessed with Clark’s touch. With each pass of his fingers Bruce's writhed against him, arching into the touch. He eventually found his nipples and tugged them firmly, twisting the skin until the sounds that left Bruce were unbridled sobs. 

He pushed him back down into the bed as he felt himself grow close. As he did, Bruce bounced back to meet him with each thrust and a part of Clark wanted to pull out and leave Bruce, let him lay on the bed and cry for Clark to come back and fuck him.

But he was too far gone for that level of forward thinking, as it stood he felt his orgasm tickling at him before he could even register it, and slowly Bruce stiffened around him too, clenching tightly around his cock and arching back up into him with a wail. 

He stayed in him for a little while longer, taking in the feeling and breathing in the scent of Bruce. 

It was as he caught his breath that he noticed something else in the air.

He pulled out slowly and and when he looked down he caught a glimpse of Bruce's abused hole, and sure enough, there was a red trickle making its way down his thigh. “Oh my God.”

  
All at once whatever fire was left in Clark was suddenly doused, leaving only damp embers that barely could heat a can of soup in the sudden tundra of despair Clark now found himself in. “Oh my fucking God, Bruce-” he was panicking, and he knew it. In fact the feeling only grew as he began to notice the purple mottling of bruises beginning to show on Bruce's skin. They were everywhere, small finger sized blotches of purple, that could only have come from one person, and Clark knew just who that person was.

  
  
“Bruce, I’m so sorry-” his eyes stung and he reached over to him. “Bruce, please-”

  
  
“Can I at least have five minutes of post orgasm bliss before you ruin it with your ‘ _ concern _’?” Bruce muttered into the duvet, cracking a single eye open and glaring at Clark. 

“What?” Clark frowned, looking over Bruce with growing bewilderment. He then shook his head and burrowed it in his hands. “Oh God, you're in shock, Bruce I didn't-”

Bruce let out a groan. “Five minutes was all I wanted… Five-” he shut himself off with a huff. “You really don't know?”

“Know what?” Clark asked, wiping the dampness away from his eyes.

  
“For the love of-” Bruce sat up sluggishly and reached for Clark’s face, pulling it away from his hands and forcing it in his direction. “That was the best sex we have _ ever _ had, okay? So will you please stop with your-” Bruce waved in the vicinity of his face. “I mean it, Clark. I didn't bust my ass for a week for you to ruin it with your puppy dog eyes.” 

  
“You’re-” Clark shook his head, confusion overwhelming him as he tried and failed to make sense of what he was hearing. “What hell are you talking about?” 

  
“You had it all figured out, and yet _this_ is what confuses you?” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I should have known really, your intelligence is only ever situational at best and honestly i'm impressed you figured out as much as you did given the circumstances.”

  
  
Clark chose to ignore the insult, for now. “Bruce, I don't get it, what-”

  
  
“This-” he pulled his hands free and gestured at the room around them. “All of _ this _ week, has been for one very specific thing and that _ thing, _ in case you had forgotten, was to get you to fuck me so hard that i’m going to need to take stool softeners until my anal tear heals.” 

Clark grimaced. “Wow, you sure do know how to horrify and concern me in just one sentence, huh?” 

“The point is.” Bruce ignored him and looked away. “What you did? It was perfect, okay? I wanted was to be fucked raw by you and you definitely delivered on that. So don’t worry about bruises or any of the other stuff. I knew what I was signing up for when I started a relationship with Superman and I definitely knew what I was signing up for when I goaded you.”

  
“But that’s just it, Bruce.” Clark got up from the bed, and for lack of any where to go paced back and forth across the floor. “I keep such a good reign on my strength, making sure I _ never _ hurt you. Even if I was pissed I shouldn’t have bruised you or-” his eyes went to the red stain on the bed and he nearly gagged. “Oh God.” 

“Clark-” Bruce sighed. “You didn't break me. You didn't go too far, and I knew you never would. This was a higher level of intensity than we’re used to but it was okay. You didn't do anything permanent.” He got up from the bed and reached for Clark’s face, bringing it to his and kissing across it softly. 

“So…” Clark couldn't help it, Bruce’s soft kisses across his face eased him and he felt the tension his body start to abate. “I still don't get it.” 

“I told you.” Bruce pulled back. “I wanted the kind of sex that would leave me bed bound and I knew the only way to get that was to infuriate you to the point you tried to choke me with your cock.”

  
  
“Why not just ask me?” Clark asked, pulling back. “You are honestly telling me you acted like this _ all _ week to get me to fuck you like a piece of meat when you could have used your words instead, like a normal person?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Clark, if I said to you, ‘I want you to treat me like your obedient cum slut and throw me around like a rag doll while you're at it.’ Would you have done it? 

Clark’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “Uh.”

“Yes, I thought as much.” Bruce turned from him, setting himself back on the bed gently. “The fact is that I _ wanted _you to snap, and so that's what I set out to achieve. All week, it's what I've wanted, for you to just grab me and-" he shuddered, and let out a breathy moan. "It took longer than I thought it would and I had to resort to a few more tricks than I would have liked, but-” he shrugged a shoulder. “It is what it is.”

  
  
“What do you mean by that?” Clark crossed his arms. “What tricks?”

  
  
“Take my camera set up.” Bruce said, pointing directly at the one that must have been recording them at that very moment. “I mean, I knew I had to come clean about it eventually, so it seemed fitting to do it _ this _ week and have it serve a use in my overall plan, so that's what I did. I put a jammer in your laptop, left the drawer in my desk slightly open for you to find my journal, and moved some files around so you could find them once you started looking. Once you saw what was there I figured it would lead to one of two outcomes; one, you’d come yell at me or two, you’d do exactly what you ended up doing and fuck me.” 

“Wait.” Clark huffed a laugh, disbelief apparent. “You did that on purpose? But you seemed so-” Clark remembers it vividly, the abject look of worry and fear on Bruce’s face. It was hard to forget.

  
  
“That was all real.” Bruce said looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “It was just the set up that was somewhat contrived. After all, if it were up to me letting you find out about the cameras on your own, I'd be dead before you ever managed it.”

Clark bristled. “Please, i’m not that stupid.”

  
“Clark, I have over 97 cameras, some of which aren't even that well hidden, dotted around the Manor. Hell, the boys found them before you ever did.”

  
  
Clark’s alarmed expression had Bruce shaking his head. “The cameras have sensors that only start recording when they register you in the frame.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Don't worry, I'm not that inhuman to film my family without their consent.”

  
  
“Oh.” Clark felt relief, before he realised he should be feeling other more pressing emotions. “Wait, no, that’s still an issue, you jackass. You still filmed _ me _.” 

“Right.” Bruce said, failing to elaborate. Again.

“God, you know what never mind.” Clark huffed and turned from him. “But now that you’ve said your piece, can I say mine?”  
  


Bruce gestured at the floor before him as though urging him to and Clark’s eyes narrowed. “You think you know me so well, but this, _ this _ is thin ice you’re on Bruce and I mean it.” He knew he’d struck a nerve when he saw the look of forced disinterest leave Bruce, and his jaw set firm instead. “We’re meant to be a team, a couple, friends, lovers, whatever you want to call it, and yet you do shit like this and expect me to just go, ‘oh well! Whatever!’” He let out a breath. “But I don't want that. Not anymore. No more tricks. No more lies. From now on, you talk to me and I talk to you, and if you don't promise me that right now Bruce, I’m out that door.”

He didn't realise the finality of what he'd said until it left his mouth. Bruce's lips were pressed thin and the more time ticked on by, the more Clark felt his heartbeat ratchet up. Was this it? Oh God, this couldn’t be it, Bruce-

“You're right.” Bruce said eventually, and Clark felt relief flood his very soul. “I'm not used to this. Not really. Before you I had flings, sure, but I never had someone who I could rely on like you, someone who I love as you. I do these things because it’s what I know, Clark. What I don't know is how to be normal.”  
  


“Well, geez Bruce.” He huffed a small laugh, stepping closer and reaching for Bruce’s face. “I’m not normal either. We need to work on some stuff, sure, but other than that there is nothing I would change about us.”

“Even my filming?” Bruce asked, wincing. “And my hoarding of your personal effects? I committed a lot of crimes to get my collection, Clark. A _ lot. _ ”

  
“Even that.” Clark said pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Though I do have some conditions going forward.”

  
  
“Oh?”

“You can keep doing all that stuff, but I get_ full _ access to it.” Clark stood up tall, his eyebrows held high. “If you're collecting things about me I deserve to know what.”

  
  
“But-” Bruce made a face and Clark saw the battle of emotions taking place there. It was over in a moment. “Okay.”

“And, no more lying. Under _ any _ circumstance. You want something, you ask for it. I'm honest with you Bruce, you need to be honest with me back.”

This one took longer for the response to come, but eventually it did and Bruce let out an even longer breath. “Okay.”  
  


“Perfect.” Clark beamed. “So first things first, I’m going to need a printed copy of your notes for today and yesterday.” 

Bruce let out a laugh. “Of course, my liege. You want it leather bound, too?”  
  


“Why of course, only the best for tales about my sexual exploits.” Clark leant in and kissed him again. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Bruce whispered back. When Clark pulled back, Bruce stood up to join him and winced. “God, before I do anything I need some ointment.” 

He watched Bruce hobble to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. That did not stop Clark however, as he took to staring at him through the wall as he began applying a rather generous amount of salve onto his asshole. After a moment, Clark cupped his hands around his mouth. “Don't forget to take your stool softener!” He yelled, and after Bruce flipped him off, they made their way downstairs, swathed in silk robes and post sex bliss. Clark felt more light and carefree than he had in a long while.

They stopped at the kitchen. Breakfast was required before anything else, as Clark hasn't eaten yet and Bruce's ‘breakfast’ couldn't be referred to as one under any definition of the word. As they waited for the coffee to brew, Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce and allowed him to rest against him and take the weight off of his legs. “Oh, before I forget, I need to write up a fairly convincing doctors note for work.” A whole week of nothing would be hard to explain away, but with Bruce on his side, Perry didn’t stand a chance.

“Already done it.” Bruce said, pulling away once the coffee brewed. He opened the cupboard and pulled out three mugs and set them down. “I’ve drawn up a few variations so it's up to you which you go for. I’d personally stick with the flu as that’s what you told Perry you had.”

  
  
Clark’s nodded absently before the wheels in his mind started to churn. “Wait, how do you know what I told Perry?”

  
  
Bruce stilled, holding the coffee pot above the cups. “It was just a hunch.”

  
  
“_Bruce_.”

“Okay, okay…” He let out a long sigh. “I may have put listening devices in your phone. And I may also have access to cameras on it.” He pursed his lips. “And the GPS.” 

“Oh, for the love of-” Clark huffed, crossing his arms. “Bruce, what did I literally just make you promise?”

Bruce made a face. “That's not really a _lie_, though. More an omission of truth.

Clark would have retorted but just as he did as he opened his mouth, the sound of the front door opening hit him and he stilled. There were footsteps approaching the doorway of the kitchen, and instead of joining Clark with a look of concern, Bruce sent a small nod through the doorway to the pair who were rapidly approaching. 

Clark felt his cheeks burn as he tugged at the edge of his dressing gown. They were wearing their silk ones, the ones that barely covered _ anything _ , and if he'd have known the boys were coming home today he might have actually put on pants. That just confirmed that he should have made Bruce promise that he could no longer omit the truth _ or _ lie. Then again, it was a very Bruce thing to already be finding loopholes for the promises he made. Really, Clark should have expected as much.

Damian sent a grimace his way, which Clark had trouble discerning as any different from the ones he usually sent him. The awkwardness of the situation was only highlighted by Tim who made a point of looking everywhere but at him as he cleared his throat and spoke. “We’re back.”

  
“How was your week?” Bruce asked, pouring out the coffee.

“Awful.” Tim said with a smile, happily taking the coffee as it was handed to him.

“Stop complaining, Drake.” Damian spat as he sat down at the counter. “You’re just jealous the alien’s mother prefers me.”

  
“She does not.” Tim snapped, anger flaring across his face. “You just-” he took a breath and let it out, before taking another and doing the same again. “You know what, I don't care anymore. You go back to your hole and continue your depressing existence as the spawn of Satan, okay?” Tim set his cup down and approached the freezer. “I'm just going to drown my sorrows in-” but as Tim pulled open the freezer and reached in, he frowned at what he saw. “Wait, where the hell is my ice cream?”

“Oh.” Clark’s face fell. “My God.”

  
  
Bruce turned to Clark, an eyebrow raised and despite no words being said, Clark knew exactly what that look conveyed.

That lying, _ sometimes _, is for the best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally at the finish line! If you have stuck around for the ride, I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> For those who lament the end of stories, do not worry my friends, the disaster boys will be back at some point. ;) 
> 
> Until next time ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Will Clark have the capacity to last the week? TUNE IN NEXT TIME.
> 
> This was a lot of fun to write. I like my smut, silly with terrible jokes, but if that's not your jam, that's cool too fam. B) 
> 
> As always let me know what you think! What are you hoping Bruce and Clark get up to over the week? Do you think Clark will last or will he tap out? Or hell, just let me know if you just enjoyed my silly little story. It keeps me going! :D 
> 
> Till next time my beauties :3


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